


Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars

by AssassinMasterEzio91



Series: Broken Sword Novelizations [1]
Category: Broken Sword (Video Games)
Genre: Bombing, Conspiracy, Danger, F/M, Murder, Mystery, Templars, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 57,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssassinMasterEzio91/pseuds/AssassinMasterEzio91
Summary: When young American tourist George Stobbart is caught up in a bomb blast at a cafe while on vacation in Paris, he teams up with French journalist Nico Collard to find out about the person behind it, a man dressed as a clown. However they soon discover that this is part of a larger conspiracy involving the ancient order of the Knights Templar, and a much darker secret.
Relationships: Nicole "Nico" Collard/George Stobbart
Series: Broken Sword Novelizations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903696





	1. Prologue

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Prologue**

“ _Paris in the fall, the last months of the year, at the end of the millennium. The city holds many memories for me, of cafés, of music, of love...and of death.”_

I smiled as I sat on the chair by the outdoor table of the café. I had come to Paris on vacation and was already finding myself in love with the city. I usually took my vacations slightly later in the year, while there would still be other tourists and such about, their numbers wouldn’t be quite so large. My most recent welcome discovery was the café I was currently sitting at, ‘Café De La Chandelle Verte’. I had stopped by to order a coffee and now sat waiting for it, taking a break from my tour of the city. Little did I know my peaceful vacation would be so rudely interrupted and in such a fashion that would drastically shape how my life would turn out, in ways I never even imagined. My name is George Stobbart, from California; I am a tall slightly build Caucasian man with blonde hair cut short at the back but left somewhat long at the front, with blue eyes. I wore a simple pair of denim jeans, a plain white T-shirt, a dark green/blue jacket and simple brown shoes.

An average man, having a normal holiday, that’s how it appeared and that’s what I literally thought it was. Until that earth-shattering event happened. I grinned a the young blonde haired, brown eyes waitress came out of the café with my coffee. She set the cup down on the table with a warm smile. I smiled back, casually brushing back my hair. She was a pretty woman, I couldn’t deny that. Then suddenly an old man approached. He was around sixty, grey-haired, wearing a simple suit with a grey hat and overcoat. His eye colour was hard to determine behind his glasses. But as he drew the waitress’ attention, practically pulling her towards him, I narrowed my eyes a bit.

‘ _What’s up with this guy?’_

However he then raised his hat in a gentlemanly fashion and, after a brief talk, he and waitress disappeared inside the café. I bit down on the toothpick I had been using to clean my lunch out of my teeth and sighed. I then became aware of a bunch of balloons, novelty ones with smiley faces, floating right next to me. A little irritated by the unwanted intrusion I burst the closest one with my toothpick. Only to reveal a man dressed as a clown, carrying an accordion behind them. He leaned in, grinning at me before slipping past. Still playing his accordion the clown, in his ungainly big shoes, made his way towards the café and slid in through the doorway.

Raising an eyebrow, as well as my coffee cup I considered this scene. _‘Must be break time at the circus.’_

I rolled my eyes at my thoughts and took a sip of my coffee.

Mere moments later however, the clown came rushing out of the café, his accordion was gone, instead he was carrying a briefcase. The very same briefcase that I remembered seeing the old man carrying before he entered the café.

‘ _Wait a minute…?’_ I thought, startled. _‘Did that clown just...’_

I never finished my thought, for at that moment, there was a tremendous bang, then bright lights and a horrible ringing noise before everything went black. When I recovered my ears were still ringing, but, rapidly blinking I realized everything else was fine, I was covered by the umbrella that had been positioned over my table, lying on the ground.

Then it all came back to me, the clown, the old man, the waitress, the theft and now, as it all came together, I realized, the explosion. I yanked the umbrella off me, sitting upright and glaring. I knew right away what I was going to do; I couldn’t just leave this, I had to find that clown and get to the bottom of this. Little did I know, this would be the start of a long and incredible adventure for me, that would turn my world upside down.


	2. Forever Changed

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Forever Changed**

“ _As I picked myself up, all I could hear was the ceaseless drone of traffic, life went on around me, but the explosion was to change my life, forever.”_

I struggled to my feet, casting the umbrella off and dusting myself off. I looked around at the devastation all around me caused by the bomb blast. The windows had been blown out, glass was everywhere, the tables had been overturned. I shuddered to think what it was like inside. Still, I forced myself and entered the cafe. Inside was indeed even worse; rubble everywhere, knocked over chairs, tables...I tensed when I saw what was to my right.

‘ _That’s...the old man...his body...’_ I thought in shock; the sight of his staring eyes turning my knees to jelly.

Still, I forced myself to move closer. I needed to see if I could find anything of importance. I examined his pockets, the jacket and pants and even inside the jacket. But there was nothing, no wallet, no papers, no credit cards, the guy’s past was a blank page. Continuing to look around the cafe I paused; noting to my incredulity that there was one thing not damaged at all, a bottle of brandy. Shaking my head I hurried over, worried, when I saw the waitress, but then I realized she was in fact still breathing, she’d just been knocked out. I let out a sigh of relief and, noticing she was coming around, I began to help her up. Soon she was conscious again, in a sitting position.

She groaned, putting her head in her hands, before straightening up, spotting me.

“Oh my head, never again...how much vodka did I drink, ah no, don’t tell me.” She muttered before focusing on me. “What is your name, cheri?”

“George Stobbart, ma’am.”

She nodded. “Oh, American?”

I bit my lip at that, she asked the question quite innocently, but I could sense her reserve, it was something that seemed to afflict all Europeans.

“You look like you need a little help.” I offered.

The waitress shook her head. “I could use a little drink, I feel sick, dizzy and bruised, I don’t even remember the party.”

I spoke as reassuringly as I could. “Just relax and take it easy, you’ve been knocked out.”  
  
“You don’t say, what happened?” She remarked in response.

“There’s been an explosion, you should try not to move.” I explained.

Her expression became suspicious. “Are you a doctor?”  
  
I paused at that; a little taken aback. But I replied truthfully.

“No but I used to play hospitals as a kid.” Well, that and I knew basic first aid. “Can you remember anything at all?”

“No, I need a drink.” She said. “Pour me a brandy.”  
  
I shook my head, that was a very bad idea. “You could be in shock, no alcohol.”

She sighed before asking. “What about the old man, is he...dead?”  
  
“Yes he is.”  
  
“Ah, Mon Dieu...” She gasped before fainting.

I grimaced, there was nothing more I could do here. So I reluctantly left the cafe, considering my options.

Back out on the street I thought about going for help; but, the time that would take. I looked over at the alleyway across the street where the clown had gone. It was then something caught my attention. I approached the lamp post by the edge of the street and picked up the newspaper that was wrapped around it. Opening it up I glanced at it.

‘ _So, some big Nobel Prize winner from some unpronounceable Eastern European state is visiting...But that’s it for news. Just rumour, gossip and sensationalism in the rest.’_ I noted with a sigh. _‘Huh, what’s this?’_

I noticed the writing at the foot of the page, it read ‘Salah-Eh-Dinn, 13:45’. Shaking my head I closed and folded the newspaper up and tucked it into a pocket on the inside of my jacket, I had plenty. I then resumed my journey, over the road, onto the other side of the street and towards the alleyway. Entering nervously I looked around, the alleyway was a dead end, but deserted, the clown was nowhere to be seen. There was litter everywhere, most notably an old plastic crate, empty boxes that could once have contained bottles of wine. Three trash cans, a drain pipe, a barred window and a manhole cover were really the only other main features in the alley.

I started with the trash cans, in case the clown was hiding in them, ridiculous as it seemed. The first was empty, then I opened the second.

“Urgh!” I cried out, slamming the lid shut.

It smelled like someone had dumped a truckload of fish in a locker room on a hot summer afternoon. Shaking my head I nervously attempted to open the last trash can, only to leap back in shock as a cat yowled, leaping out of the trash can and making it’s getaway out of the alley. I put the lid back on and shook my head, I’d had it with sticking my nose into French trash cans. So, instead I checked the barred window, no way through there, so, the drainpipe. I took a deep breath and prepared to climb, it just came away from the wall as I pulled.

‘ _I guess the clown didn’t escape over the rooftops.’_ I noted.

So I turned to the last possible escape route, the manhole cover. Getting closer I heard running water, it had to lead to a drain or sewer. Kneeling down I tried to open it, only for it to be too heavy and awkward for me to get a grip. With a sigh I stood up; my only choice now was to try and find help. So I turned and left the alleyway. I looked around, further up the street, on the same side as the cafe, were some roadworks; maybe the workers there could help. I began to hurry over.

As I approached the roadworks however, I spotted a Gendarme approaching; clad in a black uniform with gold shoulder pads, his hair, if he had any, was hidden under his cap, his rank was clearly denoted as Sergeant, he had small black eyes, a thick long grey moustache and grey eyebrows.

“Freeze!” He yelled, kneeling down, gun drawn, pointed at _me_. “Hold it, right there!”  
  
“Whoa!” I cried out stopping. “Don’t shoot, I’m innocent, I’m an American.”

The Sergeant smirked as he replied. “Can’t make up your mind, huh?”  
  
“I demand to see the American Consul.” I shot back, glaring.

“Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!”

As he said this however, another man approached; tall, bald with dark eyes and a black beard and moustache; clad in a simple suit with a tan overcoat, likely some sort of Inspector. He stopped in front of me and looked over his shoulder at the Sergeant.

“Put that thing away, Sergeant Moue.” He remarked.

His voice was calm, but authoritative, and allowed no argument. Moue did as he was told; holstering his weapon.

The Inspector turned back to me. “I apologize M’sieur, but I cannot permit you to leave.”

“Am I under arrest?” I asked, still startled.

“Ah no, I would simply like to ask you some questions.” The Inspector replied. “En avant, to the cafe, marche.”  
  
So I turned around and together we made our way back to the cafe.

Back in the cafe the Inspector looked around as he stopped me in the middle of the cafe.

“What a mess?” He muttered. “This bombing is an outrage, is it not?”

“Stop that M’sieur!” Moue suddenly said. “Stop holding your breath, at once.”  
  
He was, talking to the corpse. The Inspector turned to him.

“Has it occurred to you that he may be dead, Moue?”

“Qui M’sieur.” Moue replied, looking up. “But I prefer to look on the bright side, besides, I recall a case where the killer escaped by feigning death.”

He stood up.

“However...” He continued. “In this case the man is, quite dead, clearly, the killer knew of his presence and...”

The Inspector glared at that. “How many times have I warned you against premature extrapolation; all we know is, that he is dead. Now, examine the girl, and take her statement...if you can.”  
  
It was then I noticed the waitress was awake again and sitting where she had been when I talked to her. I admit I felt some relief at that, as Moue walked over to her and the Inspector turned to me, pulling out his notebook and a pen.

“Et maintenant, now, to business.” He stated as he began to write. “Your name, please?”  
  
“George Stobbart.” I replied. “I’m from California.”

He nodded as he wrote.

He continued.

“And what brings you to Paris, M’sieur Stobbart?”

“Travel, I’m touring Europe.” I replied.

The Inspector actually smiled at that. “You chose well, the city is more beautiful at this time of year, non?”  
  
“Uh, yeah I guess so...” I replied. “Apart from the bomb blasts.”

He passed over that remark with no reaction.

“Were you in the vicinity of the cafe at the time of the explosion?”

“Yes I was sitting out on the sidewalk, I was lucky I wasn’t killed.” I replied; again to no reaction.

The Inspector merely made a few notes then continued.

“Did you see the deceased enter the cafe?” He asked, I replied in the affirmative and he then asked. “Was he alone?”  
  
“Uh...yeah.” I answered as I recalled.

Nodding he then asked. “And did he say anything to you?”  
  
“No.” I replied. “He was more interested in the waitress.”

Making a few more notes, the Inspector paused before asking.

“Did you see anyone else, in the cafe?”

I knew this was going to sound crazy, but I said it. “Yeah, there was a guy dressed as a clown, he was carrying an accordion.”  
  
“An accordion?” The Inspector replied, raising an eyebrow. “Bon, the picture is forming in my mind, and it is not a pretty one.”

He then put his notebook away.

He looked over to where Moue was talking to the waitress.

“Is the girl alright, Moue?”

He turned to us. “She’ll live, she confirms the American’s statement, a clown with an accordion, no doubt an elaborate and eccentric disguise.”

“Very well.” The Inspector nodded. “Eh Bien, I have heard enough.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“I am satisfied that you know nothing, you may leave.”  
  
“What about me personal safety?” I queried. “Can’t you at least give me some advice?”

“What can I say, stay alert and look out for suspicious characters.” The Inspector replied with a shrug.

The Moue chimed in. “And don’t cross the road, until the little man shows green.”

“Great advice.” I replied sarcastically.

“I honestly believe you are in no danger, M’sieur.” The Inspector told me. “Should you remember anything of importance however, please contact me, my card.”  
  
He handed me his card and allowed me to go. I left, but not before hearing an odd conversation between the Inspector, who the card revealed was called Augustan Rosso, and Moue, apparently about Rosso’s interests and gift in ‘Psychic Detection’.

Still confused by that weird conversation I stepped back out onto the street, with Moue coming up behind me to block the door to the cafe. I heard the distinctive noise of a camera and looked around. I saw the source, a young woman was nearby, she was slender with medium long dark hair, two bangs framing her face, she had brown eyes, fair skin was clad in a purple short dress over black tights, a black leather jacket and blue heels. She had a camera and was taking pictures of the scene. I was curious and so called out to her.

“Excuse me, Mademoiselle.”

She turned towards me as I approached. I was struck when I reached her, I couldn’t deny she was rather beautiful.

Composing myself however I spoke. “Hi, my name is George Stobbart.”  
  
“Oh, an American by the sounds of it?” She replied casually, clearly simply noting my accent.

I nodded. “That’s right, on vacation in Paris, some vacation huh?”

She looked at me curiously. “You were here when the bomb went off?”

“Sure was, sat right out front of the cafe.”

“Did you notice a middle aged man, maybe sixty with a hat and overcoat?” She asked.

I couldn’t believe it, she didn’t even ask how I was feeling. “Yeah, he went inside, just before the bomb exploded, you weren’t, related to him were you?”

“Oh no nothing like that.” She said before introducing herself. “I am Nico Collard, from La Liberte.”

I had to admit, I was somewhat confused.

I gave voice to my confusion.

“What’s that, some kinda, nightclub?”  
  
“Ah no, it’s a newspaper.” She explained.

“You’re a reporter?!”  
  
“I’m a freelance photojournalist.”  
  
I grinned. “Say, you could interview me about the bombing, an eyewitness account, minutes after the outrage that shook the whole of Paris. Real life drama, human interest, that kinda stuff.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll just stick to the facts, thank you...Did you see who planted the bomb?”  
  
“I know it sounds crazy but, he was disguised as a clown.” I explained.

Her response surprised me. “Oh God, it’s him again.”  
  
Again? I made sure to remember that, there were other things I wanted to ask her however.

Such as the identity of the old man. “Who was the guy you were supposed to meet?”  
  
“His name was Plantard.” She told me. “I didn’t know him but he called me last night, he said he had a story that would interest me, asked to meet at the cafe. I guess I’ll never know now what he wanted to tell me.”  
  
“Well not unless you have Rosso’s gift for Psychic interrogation.”

She reacted to that. “Rosso, Inspector Rosso, is he here?”

“Yeah.” I replied. “You know him?”  
  
“Our paths have a knack of crossing, if I didn’t know better I’d say it was deliberate.”  
  
“Ah, well he’s inside, attempting to question a witness with his...psychic powers.” I explained.

She scoffed at that. “That guy is weird.”  
  
I nodded in agreement.

I decided to get down to the point.

“Have you met the clown before?”

She paused before replying. “It’s...a long story.”  
  
I shrugged. “I have plenty of time.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
I sighed. “Why won’t you tell me about this clown?”

“Why do you want to get involved?” She shot back.

I couldn’t believe she was actually asking that.

I pointed that out with one simple explanation. “Because he almost killed me, isn’t that reason enough?”  
  
“I guess so, listen.” She said at last. “I’ll give you my phone number.”  
  
She wrote it down on an old envelope which she then gave to me.

“You will me with my story and I’ll tell you what I know, and let’s get one thing straight right now...this is strictly business.” She told me.

I nodded. “Okay, it’s a deal.”  
  
She smiled. “I have to go develop these pictures, A bientôt M’sieur.”

“Fine I’ll uh...see you soon.”  
  
With that she began to walk away, I watched her go, amazed that in all this carnage, it looked like I had an ally.


	3. Fishing For Clues

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Fishing for Clues**

After Nico Collard left, I was at a loose end. I needed to known more about this clown, so I needed her help. But to get it, I needed to find information.

‘ _To get that information, I need to find out where the clown went...which means somehow getting into the sewers.’_ I reflected. _‘But I can’t get the manhole cover open, I’ll need some sort of tool...’_

My thoughts at this stage trailed off as I looked over towards the roadworks again and I wondered.

I thought carefully. _‘Maybe he; there might be something there I could use...’_

I quickly began making my way over to the roadworks; without the interference of Sergeant Moue, I could get a good look around at last. The roadworks had set up a barrier on the sidewalk, a single workman was digging a hole with a pick; the building to the left was large, the only way in was a large wooden gate, with a smaller access door set into it, undoubtedly locked. But that wasn’t why I was here; I observe the workman, a grey-haired man with dark eyes, muscular build and a grey moustache, clad in overalls. Looking past him I spotted a tent made of plastic sheeting, inside it was a toolbox.

‘ _Just what I’m looking for, but...’_ I bit my lip; the workman was still there. _‘He’s not just gonna let me pick a tool out of his toolbox. I’ll need to distract him somehow.’_

I approached him, deciding to try and talk to him, see what I could find out.

Once I stood by the barrier, I cleared my throat and spoke.

“Hi, can you spare a few minutes?”  
  
The old man straightened up and glared at me.

His voice was rough like gravel. “I thought you’d been arrested. When he pulled that gun, I thought, that was is. Those automatics pack quite a punch, you know.”

I shook my head. “No, it was a misunderstanding, he thought I was a terrorist.”

“You, a terrorist, ha!”

“He was only doing his duty I guess.” I replied before getting serious. “Say, did you see an old guy with a briefcase?”

Maybe tracking Plantard’s last movements would also be beneficial.

Unfortunately, that just made the old workman seem even angrier. “Qui, silly old coot, you know what he said to me. Work fascinates me, he said, I could watch it all day. Quelle bitte, I could have knocked his block off.”  
  
I decided to leave that one alone, maybe try focusing more on the clown.

But I still needed to know. “Did you recognize the old man?”

“No, should I have done, was he a celebrity?”

“No.” I replied. “But I guess he is now. Anyway, did you see a clown come by this way?”  
  
The man’s eyes widened a little. “A clown, like, in the circus?”

“Yeah, with make-up and a big red nose?”

“Ho, those guys are funny, aren’t they.” He replied cheerfully.

I sighed. “Not in my experience.”  
  
But the man wasn’t finished.

He seemed quite pleased to speak about the circus.

“I love the circus, especially the horses.”  
  
“You haven’t answered the question.” I replied firmly. “Have you seen a clown?”

The man narrowed his eyes again. “You think I’ve got time to watch everyone who passes by, some of us has to work for a living.”  
  
I was getting nowhere; I needed to try and get through to this guy; or at least find a way to distract him so I could look in his toolbox.

“Look, I know you’re busy.” I explained. “But surely you’d have noticed a clown.”  
  
“I told you already, I didn’t see anything!”  
  
I pressed on however. “He was wearing multicoloured baggy trousers, and make-up.”

The man however was not impressed. “He’d be a poor sort of clown if he didn’t.”

“Listen.” I said, deciding to get serious. “I have to find that clown, he’s a killer.”

“Say, who are you anyhow, a cop?”

I shook my head. “No of course not, do I look like a cop?”

“I guess not.” He shot back. “How do you know this guy’s a killer, have you seen him in action?”

Boy did I ever. “Didn’t you hear the explosion, the cafe was blown up.”

“I wondered what that bang was.” He replied. “Any bodies?”

“Yeah, an old man was killed.”

“Merde, I didn’t think it was that serious.” He muttered. “What about the waitress?”

I quickly calmed him about that. “Oh she’s fine.”

He smiled. “Thank the saints.”

This was getting me nowhere however; I needed something. Luckily this talk had given me a good idea of the old man’s character, so I realized I did have a way in, in my pocket.

I pulled the necessary object out of my pocket, setting it next to the hole he was digging.

“Would you like to read my newspaper?” I offered.

The man shook his head however. “I haven’t got time to read that, can’t you see I’m busy?”

“You could read it on your lunch break.”

He suddenly looked wistful. “Ten minutes is all I get, and if my boss had his way, I wouldn’t get that. He’d have me on a drip so I didn’t have to stop to eat.”

I sighed; actually frustrated. “Oh take the newspaper and quit complaining.”  
  
Putting his pick down, the man sighed, ruffling his moustache as picked up the newspaper and began to read.

“Cha! Look at this.” He spat. “Damn bleeding heart liberals. Save the dolphins, catch them and eat them I say. All that fuss over a bunch of fish.”

He shook his head and turned the page, grinning. “Now, that’s more like it; look at the size of those, like champagne bottle corks, no.”

I didn’t respond, so he turned the page again, arriving at the marked page and suddenly he brightened.

“Ah, what’s this, Salah-Eh-Dinn, running in the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe!”

“It’s a race horse?” I queried; having been confused by that note in the paper.

Grinning he continued. “A horse, a legend, Bucephalus reborn, mon ami. Like a streak of lightning she is.”

With that he suddenly pulled himself up out of the hole.

Grinning he stood up and spoke to me.

“Do me a favour would you, keep an eye on my hole.” He said. “I’m off to put some money on that nag.”  
  
With that he began strolling away, whistling to himself. I could scarcely believe it; I only intended to distract this guy and instead I got him to completely leave the area. Deciding to take my chance I hurried over to the toolbox and began rooting around inside before pulling out just what I needed, a tool for lifting manhole covers. It was a real struggle with this, but I was able to fit it into a pocket. It was somewhat bulky, but manageable. Not wasting any more time, I hurried all the way back to the alleyway and, putting the sewer key to use, I opened the manhole cover and began to climb down the ladder, into the sewers. I grimaced at the smell, but composed myself, I had to stay focused. Doing so I began to walk along the green tinged slime covered walkway. That was when I saw it; sitting incongruously on the floor; a small red ball with a hole in it. I picked up and realized what it was.

‘ _The clowns red nose...he was down here.’_ I realized; glad I was on the right track.

Pocketing the red nose I continued along the walkway, through to yet another section of sewers, I sighed but looked around. To my relief I saw a ladder leading upwards, I could get out of here. But two more items caught my attention.

The first was a soggy looking crumpled paper tissue lying on the floor, covered in some white substance, the other was a scrap of green chequered material that was snagged on a spike on a railing at the end of the walkway. Despite my distaste I picked up the sodden tissue, looking closely at it; I couldn’t fathom what was on it; but I had suspicions, given it was a clown I was chasing. I pocketed it, walked over to the material scrap and unsnagged from the spike before pocketing it too. Then, with relief, I climbed the ladder to get out of the sewer. I stopped at the top however looking up from the open manhole. I was in some sort of courtyard and staring up at an old red uniformed bald man with dark eyes, a white thick moustache with sideburns. He looked like some sort of concierge.

“Hi there.” I greeted him, a little surprised.

He spoke in a quick bark. “Hold it right there you, you sewer rat. Ha, I knew you’d come back, and now, I’ve got you.”

I was perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re trespassing, come out of there, immediately.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” I explained. “Give me your hand.”  
  
I reached up but he stepped back.

“Ha, you won’t catch me with tricks like that.” He retorted.

With a sigh I grunted in effort and pulled myself out.

Standing in the courtyard now, I turned to the old concierge.

The man instantly shouted. “Keep your distance, M’sieur!”  
  
“Okay, okay.”

“Now, what were you looking for?” He demanded.

“Terrorists.” I explained. “The meanest nastiest dirtiest bunch of guys you ever saw.”

The concierge mumbled before speaking. “Englishmen without a doubt, the filthy dogs. The day they opened that tunnel was a bad day for France, I tell you. If I still had the full use of my faculties, I’d march right over there, and tell them so.”  
  
I just nodded, deciding to pass over the comment. “Well, whoever they are, they blew up the cafe.”  
  
“What, the cafe, blown up?” He gasped. “Mon dieu, that is awful!”

“The guy who did it was a cold calculating killer; he disguised himself as a clown.” I explained. “I chased him into the sewers, and I think he came this way.”  
  
The concierge looked shocked. “Ah, then, the man I chased, do you think, that man and the clown are...one and the same?”

“Well, yes, the thought had crossed my mind.”  
  
“Ah, that still does not explained what you were doing down the sewers.” He replied, becoming suspicious again. “For all I know, you are in league with him.”

I shook my head quickly. “Oh no, I’m just a tourist.”

The man scoffed. “Most tourists are content with the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, or the Pigalle. I didn’t realize my waste pipes were such an attraction.

No, he did not buy that at all.

I needed to get this information out of him; he’d clearly seen the clown, he had to know something.

‘ _I can’t believe I’m doing this, in fact, this is dangerous and illegal, but I need that information.’_ I noted to myself.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out Inspector Rosso’s card.

“Perhaps you’d, like to take a look at my card?” I queried, handing it to the concierge.

I knew there was no going back now, I’d just impersonated a police officer.

Looking at the card with narrowed eyes, the concierge began muttering. “What is this...Inspector Augustan Rosso...what does that say, hominoid division?”  
  
“Uh, homicide, I think the ink smudged.” I quickly corrected him.

Putting the card aside the concierge replied. “So, you are not a tourist.”  
  
“Okay, I’m not, I lied to you, and I’m sorry.” I quickly tried to explain.

The man shook his head however. “Don’t apologize M’sieur, you know, I had a feeling there was something...different about you. It is your posture, your poise. Oh yes, there is no mistaking the bearing of a disciplined man, and I should know. I was in the army you know, and when I was your age, I was fighting for my life, in the African desert. How can I help you inspector.”

I smiled; maybe it was worth it after all.

I had asked him about Plantard, the waitress and even some of the items in my pockets, but nothing of substance came up. I decided to get to the point; get to the real issue.

“Tell me about the man you apprehended?”

“Ah, he was a mean one M’sieur, he got me in an armlock, his grip was like iron, his face suddenly next to mine.” He remarked. “But he didn’t know what he was up against, oh no, he made a big mistake when he went up against one of the Desert Hyenas.”  
  
I nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, I get the picture.”  
  
It was starting to make sense; the dropped items, the man’s story so far. The clown had changed out of his costume while in the sewers, came up into the courtyard, struggled with the concierge and then ran out, likely through the access door to my left, the same one I saw from the other side, by the roadworks.

I remembered what I saw the clown carrying too. “Did the man you saw have a briefcase?”

“Why yes, clutched in his arms like a baby.” The concierge replied.

As I thought, this was the guy alright; he had killed Plantard for his briefcase, but why, what was inside it. I then remembered what I still needed to show him.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I asked, showing him the green material I had found.

His eyes lit up at once. “Ah, that is the same cloth as the jacket I found, I’d recognize that pattern anywhere.”

That caught my attention.

That could be a good lead.

“About the jacket you found, do you have it here?”

“No, one of the sleeves was badly torn, so I sent it for repair.” He replied.

I sighed. “Was there anything in the jacket pockets?”

He shook his head. “Not a sou; I gave it an itinerant Romany seamstress.”  
  
“Just my luck.”

“Ah, but it had the tailors name, inside, on the label.”  
  
That would be a good lead. “Did you get the address?”

“There wasn’t one, just a telephone number.”  
  
I was sceptical, but to my amazement he gave the number without hesitation. I quickly made a note of it and thanked him for his helped. He seemed pleased to help and went to let me out through the access gate. I was now back on the street, with a pretty decent idea of what had happened now. Spotting a phone by the construction site; I walked over and picked up the phone, this had to be the information that would get me the help I needed. I called Nico.

“Bonjour, Collard.”

“Hi, it’s George, the American at the cafe?” I said.

She replied at once. “Ah Oui.”  
  
“Um, you said to call if I could help?”  
  
“Do you have any news for me?”

I grinned. “You bet, I met a witness who spoke to the clown, and I know where the killer gets his suits.”

“No kidding, hey, I’m impressed.” She said.

“You are?” I gasped. “Well, it wasn’t easy.”  
  
“Listen, why don’t you come over here to my apartment?”

“Um, sure, where do you live?” I asked.

“361 Rue Jarry.”

“Okay.” I replied. “I’ll come right over.”  
  
With that we both hung up.

Now I was getting somewhere, I turned and left the area, immediately deciding to make my way to Nico’s place, this mystery was complex, and was certainly picking up incredible pace.


	4. Hunting For The Clown

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Hunting for The Clown**

Arriving at Rue Jarry I began to contemplate what had happened to me so far.

‘ _This is incredible, how could this have...I just came here for a vacation, nearly got blown up by a clown and now I’m here...’_ I reflected. _‘Seeking any lead I can to try and hunt him down, with help from Nico Collard hopefully.’_

Looking around I noticed it was a relatively nice street; albeit I couldn’t help but notice a startling contrast in the stores. One was a woman’s clothing store with shockingly high prices, the amount that would feed a starving family for the rest of their lives. Yet the only other open store I could see was a fruit store, that seemed downmarket, the fruit on display looked dry, dusty and tired looking. I finally spotted, between the stores, an apartment building, it matched the one I was told about by Nico.

But I couldn’t believe what I saw. _‘_ _I can’t imagine the Collard woman living here.’_

Nico was a well-dressed, beautiful woman, she certainly looked successful. But this apartment building, the door was shabby and in need of a coat of paint, it was run down. I shook my head, unsure. But I went up the steps and tried the door; it wouldn’t open.

‘ _Rats, guess it’s locked.’_

Shaking my head I stepped down and looked around again; to see if I could find another phone to call Nico; or maybe someone to help.

Across the street, I spotted a large flower cart, seated on a stool next to it was a heavy elderly woman, dressed up nice, with a kind smile on her face. She was doing something with a pair of needles that couldn’t be described as knitting. Still, she was certainly a cheery looking soul, the kind you’d walk across the street to avoid. Still I walked over, smiling lightly.

“Excuse me.”

She turned to me and her smile widened. “Bonjour M’sieur, would you like me to foretell your future?”

“No thanks.” I replied, a little taken aback.

“I’m very good, and it only takes a minute.” She explained.

I shook my head. “Thanks all the same, but I’m not superstitious, besides, if it only takes a minute, that’s not much of a future to look forward too.”  
  
The woman just gave a good natured laugh, I pondered for a moment, how to word my questions.

I decided to cut to the chase. “Do you a young woman called Nico Collard?”

“Yes I do.” She said at once. “She lives upstairs from in the apartment across the street.”  
  
“I tried the door but it seems to be locked.”  
  
The woman sighed. “You know, I’ve told the landlord about that a thousand times, it sticks you see, because of the damp.”

My eyes widened as I realized. “You mean, the door’s stuck because it’s swollen?”

“Yes; there is an art to opening it; don’t shove it hard, just give it a gentle nudge above the lock.” She explained.

I smiled at that. “Thanks for the advice.”

I couldn’t help but wonder however.

What I’d seen and heard concerned me.

“How long has Mademoiselle Collard lived here?” I queried.

The old woman shrugged. “Several months, she’s in for a shock when the cold weather comes. Draughty windows, insufficient heating, it’s a struggle to keep warm.”  
  
I froze, shocked by this.

“The only reason I stay, is the rent is cheap.” The old woman casually finished.

I still couldn’t believe it however. “I thought Mademoiselle Collard was a successful photographer?”

“Oh not as successful as she makes out for all her fine clothes.” The old woman replied; shaking her head. “Oh I’ve heard her, crying herself to sleep at night.”  
  
“That’s awful.”

“Now don’t you let on that I’ve told you, she’s proud that one, too proud if you ask me.” She told me.

I nodded and bid her farewell; armed with the new knowledge, I hurried back over to the apartment building and nudged the door gently above the lock, it opened. Smiling I stepped inside and began making my way up to the apartment. Knocking on the door, I heard her inviting me in. Opening the door I stepped in. The apartment was small, somewhat untidy, with a few shelves on the walls, a connected kitchen, a single door likely leading to a bathroom, a bed was tucked in the corner to my left.

The final thing I spotted was a table between the two windows, with two chairs on either side of it, it was there Nico was sitting, turned towards me.

She smiled in welcome. “Bonjour, I’m glad you could make it M’sieur.”

“Please, call me George.”  
  
“Fine, I’m Nicole, have a seat, George.” She replied.

Smiling I walked over to the other chair and sat down.

“Eh Bien.” She said, businesslike. “And what have you been up to?”  
  
“I’ve been exploring the sewers beneath the cafe.”

“I thought I could smell something bad.”

I just smiled and continued. “The clown used the sewers to escape and to change out of his costume, I guess he was in a hurry, he left his jacket behind...”

“And?” Nico prompted.

“I got his tailor’s phone number.”

She sighed. “You had more luck than I did.”

‘ _Luck she says, luck, hard work I call it.’_ But I didn’t voice that. “What happened?”  
  
“I took my photos to the editor, but he wasn’t interested, can you believe it, he told me to drop the story.” She told me.

“But...you’re not about to do that?”  
  
“Oh no.” She said seriously. “I’m going to find out who is behind these killings, it just doesn’t add up, it almost feels like some sort of conspiracy. The police in three different countries have kept very quiet about the murders, the press don’t connect them at all. They blame on religious, political and militant minority extremists.”

I shook my head at that, replying. “That covers just about everybody.”

She nodded and we both went quiet, contemplating what we knew and what to say.

Finally, I sighed and decided to ask.

“Tell me more about the Clown’s previous victims?”  
  
Nico nodded and began. “The first was Arno Bilotta, the millionaire pharmaceutical baron. He made his money from amphetamines, in the post-war slimming and diet boom. Imagine it, millions of housewives literally speeding their butts off. The only witness in the case was his Filipino au pair. She swears he was lured to his death by a snowman.”

I wasn’t sure what to make on that, but it was certainly unsettling.

“What about the clown’s second victim?” I queried.

“Yamada, the controversial Japanese green politician. He inherited his fortune from his father’s electro-chemical consortium.” She told me. “He was committee to dismantling Japan’s automobile industry.”

“I can’t see him gaining much support with a loony policy like that.”

Nico continued. “Yamada was a man of vision, years ahead of his time. He died at the hands...or should I say, flippers, of a giant emperor penguin.”  
  
No that was just messed up.

“A snowman, a penguin and now a clown?” I summed up, shaking my head. “You know I hate to admit it, but this is scary, and I’ll tell you what, I will not be accepting any invitations to costume parties.”

Nico nodded. “I don’t blame you for being scared, I am too. But this story could be my only chance of a big break.”

“Or an early death.”

She said nothing at that and we lapsed into silence once more.

Finally, I couldn’t help myself, I had to ask.

“Tell me more about...yourself?”

She seemed a little surprised but then shrugged. “Oh, there isn’t much to tell.”

I thought briefly before replying. “Well, how’d you get into photography?”

“I guess I owe that to my father, he bought me my first camera...I was eight and my parents just split up.” She told me.

“Did you, live with your father?”

“Yes, my mother went off with her new boyfriend, I didn’t mind, Papa was all I needed.” She said, but then sighed. “Four years later he died in a plane crash.”

“Oh I’m sorry...” I was afraid I’d just made a horrible mistake.

She smiled however. “It’s alright, I don’t mind talking about him. He was more like an older brother really, always joking and laughing. He always wanted me to study art, so I went to college.”

“Did you learn about photography in college?”

“Oh God no, I couldn’t afford the materials, we were billed for everything we used, paint, canvas, paper.” She replied. “Most of my year turned to minimalism, it was cheaper, I used to go poaching in the park for squirrel hair...the only term I wasn’t hungry was the term I did printing. I used to eat the potatoes.”

I sighed at that. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Oh no.”

I nodded slowly; I didn’t ask any more however, I felt like I would be prying.

Instead I contemplated the items I had found, I knew two of them would be of interest.

“Here, I...found this false nose in the sewers.” I explained, showing her.

She took the clowns nose and examined it.

“Hey.” She said suddenly. “What’s this inside it?”  
  
“The contents of someone’s nose?”

“Don’t be gross, George.” She admonished before revealing. “It says La Risee du Monde, Masques et costumes. It’s a costume shop near the Gare St. Lazare.”

I grinned at that. “I’ll check it out, maybe the owner remembers who hired the clown costume.”  
  
She handed the nose back and I showed her the scrap of green material and explained how the concierge recognized it.

“It’s very distinctive alright.” She commented. “Here look at this, I developed the film I took at the cafe, it’s an enlargement I made.”

She handed me a photo of a shifty looking man with Arabic features, black hair and eyes, she pointed out what he was wearing. A rather plain looking brown shirt, red tie and…

“Chequered pants, of the same material I found in the sewers.”

“That’s right.” She said. “This guy shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”

I was confused until Nico pointed it out, on the man’s right cheek was a scar in the shape of a horseshoe or crescent moon. Armed with these clues I said farewell to Nico and decided to check out the costume shop. So I left Rue Jarry and began heading for La Risee du Monde.

* * *

Once there I was able to find the costume shop relatively easily; it was quite a colourful face. But the almost bald owner produced a sharp contrast to that, his spoon shaped face was mournful and humourless, he looked like a vegetarian in a slaughterhouse.

“Um, excuse me...” I began uncertainly.

“Bonjour M’sieur, come in, welcome.” He greeted me. “Leave the mundane world behind, for in these four walls, fantasy is king.  
  
“Uh, I don’t want a costume.”

“Didn’t you ever dress up as a child?” He queried.

“Not that I remember, all I want is information.”  
  
“Very well, how may I help you?” He replied.

“I’m looking for a man who hired a clown costume from you.” I explained. “Don’t you, keep any records, I’d like to see them?”

The man shook his head. “Impossible, there are too many, you’ll have to give me something more to go by. Wait...that smell...”

I was startled and pulled out the source of it, the tissue I found in the sewers.

“Uh, this…?”

He nodded and took it from me, shockingly sniffing it.

“Bestheimers number seven white pancake, the crem-de-la-crem of Thespian accurament.”

I had been right all along, the tissue was smeared with theatrical greasepaint.

Now I had some hope. I pulled out the photograph.  
  
“Have you seen this man before.”  
  
The man nodded. “Yes M’sieur, he was here just this morning, he is the one I sold the greasepaint too. He gave me his name as M’sieur Khan.”  
  
I had it, I had a name.

“Thanks for your help buddy.”

“My pleasure M’sieur.” He replied. “Allow me to shake you by the hand.”

I was confused but accepted, only to leap back; the man had been concealing a hand buzzer in his palm.

“What are you trying to do, kill me?”

“You did not find it amusing?” He queried.

I glared. “I never saw the funny side of electric shock therapy.”

“Eh Bien, it is yours to keep, a gift.”  
  
“Do I need a license?” I asked, taking it.

“No, but I give you a word of warning M’sieur.” He remarked. “Remember to switch it off before you visit the toilet.”  
  
Cringing at that I nodded and left and hurried back to Rue Jarry.

* * *

Back in Nico’s apartment I spoke to her quickly about my visit to the costume shop and now we were ready to pursue our next lead.

“So, we have the killer’s name...we have his tailor’s phone number.” I summed up. “If we talk to the tailor and give him the name, we can probably trace this guy.”  
  
Nico nodded. “It’s worth a shot, go ahead, give him a call.”  
  
Nodding I picked up the phone and called the tailor, Todryk.

“Hello? Who is this?” A concerned male voice came from the other end.

“Mister Todryk?” I replied. “My name is George Stobbart, you don’t know me...”  
  
He replied quickly. “Correct Mister Stobbart, I don’t, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m trying to trace one of your customers, could I maybe, come over and talk to you?” I asked.

Immediately the man panicked. “No, no, that is not possible.”

“Oh alright, sorry, just, all I need is some information.”  
  
“I...alright.” He said at last. “What do you want to know?”  
  
I had a feeling, had I called this guy earlier, he would have been _very_ unhelpful.

Still I had useful information now. “I’m looking for a man named, Khan, he bought a suit from you?”

Mister...Khan...” Todryk replied, his tone thoughtful as I heard him shuffling papers. “Yes, two suits actually, I remember him. Yes I sent the suits to his hotel. The Hotel Ubu, I don’t remember the room number. It was upstairs; the second room, on the right hand side of the corridor.”

“Thanks Todryk, that’s all I need to know.”

I hung up, we had him, we had the clown now. I smiled over at Nico.

“Now we’re getting somewhere, do you know, the Ubu?”  
  
“The Ubu, yes I do.”  
  
“That’s where the clown stayed.” I revealed.  
  


We both grinned; at last, we had found him.

I prepared myself and, bidding farewell to Nico, I made my way out of the apartment and Rue Jarry, heading for the Hotel Ubu.


	5. A Helping Hand

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**A Helping Hand**

Reaching the Hotel Ubu I was surprised by what I saw; it was a large stone building that if the outside was anything to go by, was the picture of opulence. Looking around as I stood on the street outside, I noted an alleyway to the left as I stood facing the entrance. But what really drew my attention were the two men standing on either side of the pillars at the base of the stairs leading up to the hotel, flanking the entrance. One was a grey haired overweight man who looked like a gorilla in a green Italian suit with a flat cap. The other man had dark hair, was skinny as a rail with a ridiculous looking moustache that wouldn’t be out of place in a Victorian play, his Italian suit was brown, as was his brimmed hat, he looked just like a weasel. Both had suspicious looking bulges in their pockets which made me nervous. I didn’t like the looks of these men and had a nasty feeling that, if I went inside, I’d have to face them when I came back out. Storing that warning firmly in my mind, I did my best to not make eye contact and went up the stairs, entering the front doors of the hotel. If the outside was nice, the inside was incredible, with a plush green carpet, fancy chandelier, a circular red sofa was in the middle of the entrance of the room, centred around a statue. In one corner was an ornate booth with a telephone inside it. Also present was a piano, a large staircase which led to the upper floors, at the far end of the room was the desk where people check in.

I could hear the piano was being played and; looking around, I saw there was a total of three people in the lobby. The one playing the piano was a plump elderly woman with _purple_ hair, a beauty mark near her mouth and clad in an elegant purple and gold dress with matching heels. She was clearly English. I recognized the guy sitting on the circular sofa, reading a newspaper. He wore a plain suit, had short brown hair, with a similar beard and moustache and dark eyes. It was the Nobel Prize Winner I’d read about in the newspaper I had picked up. The final person was a clerk, a man in a flamboyant purple suit with blonde hair, a disdainful expression, and seemed preoccupied with filing his nails. I shook my head and decided to focus, I needed to make sure of things first; so I made my way across the lobby, and up the stairs.

‘ _Let’s see now, upstairs, second room on the right hand side of the corridor.’_ I recalled.

I now stood in an upstairs corridor which matched Todryk’s description. I began checking the doors, there were three on my right, rooms twenty-one, twenty-two and twenty-three.

I stopped. _‘So, if the tailor is correct, Khan is in room twenty-two...but how to get in…?’_

I headed back downstairs, this would require some subterfuge.

I decided to approach the clerk first; he put his file down and turned to face me as I stood by the desk. I used this time to look down at the register of guests staying at the hotel; there was no one registered under the name of Khan.

‘ _Hmm, if the killer was staying here, he must have used a different pseudonym...’_ I reflected; noting room twenty-two. _‘Hmm, what’s that say? T. Moerlin?’_

I focused on the clerk however. “I want some information.”

“Who are you?” He asked suspiciously. “The police?”

I shook my head. “I’m conducting a private investigation.”  
  
The clerk smirked a little. “Ah, I know only too well what you mean, that is one of the drawbacks of the catering business, when people book into a hotel, they leave their morals at home, non?”  
I wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting at; but I decided to press on.

“I’m looking for a man by the name of Khan...”

“I assure you, M’sieur, we have no guest by that name.” The clerk replied. “Perhaps you’d care to check the register?”

“I already did.” I told him. “Listen, the guy who calls himself Khan has a scar on his cheek.”

“Vraiment. I tell you, I know no one by that name.”  
  
Maybe not, but I noticed a change in his expression when I mentioned the scar.

I had to think now, this man was clearly hiding something; he was going to be an obstacle. My gaze fell on a key, hanging on a hook on a board on the wall.

I turned back to the clerk. “About the key hanging on the hook over there?”

“Oui M’sieur?”

“Which room is for?”  
  
He replied immediately. “Number Twenty One.”  
  
“Is that room taken?” I asked, hopefully; that was next to room twenty-two.

“No M’sieur.” He told me. “The guest checked out this morning...but it is reserved for another guest.”

“Rats.” I muttered.

He shook his head. “No M’sieur, Dutch.”  
  
Rollin my eyes I left the counter. I would need some help; some way to distract the clerk so I could grab that key. I looked over at the other people in the room. Ostvald, the Nobel Prize winner was engrossed in his paper and just didn’t give off a vibe that said he was going to help me. The English woman however just might. I decided to go over and talk to her, walking over I waited until she finished the song she was currently playing.

“Hi ma’am.” I greeted her.

She turned and smiled widely and perhaps a little unsettlingly.

She seemed to almost be looking me up and down, a strange glint in her eye.

“Well hello, what can I do for you?” She asked; drawing her voice out into a drawl.

I tried to explain. “I’m looking for a man...”  
  
“You disappoint me, my dear, for one foolish moment I thought, but nevermind.” She replied. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“George, George Stobbart ma’am.”  
  
She grinned. “How sweet; I once had a stable boy called George. I am Lady Piermont; the common reaction is to kneel and stutter, but it’s not obligatory.”  
  
“A real lady?” I asked startled. “I mean, you’re an honest to God aristocrat?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know about that; few of my ancestors were honest, even to God. I can trace my family back to the Normans, but don’t let that intimidate you. Beneath that impressive pedigree I am just, flesh and blood. The blood may be blue but the flesh is the plump beef of old England, so to speak.”  
  
I nodded slowly; while impressed, I had to focus on my task.

Seeing this she spoke. “You seem distracted George, is there anything I can do to help?”

I decided to be blunt. “I’m looking for a murderer.”  
  
“Good Heavens.” She gasped. “You’re a private detective.”

“That’s correct ma’am.” I said, jumping on the chance, I now had a good cover.

“What’s the term you Americans use, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”

I shifted uncomfortably as I replied. “I believe the expression you’re thinking of is...Dick.”  
  
“Precisely.”

I thought for a moment, wondering how to go about this.

I decided to get to know Lady Piermont better.

“Are you here in Paris on vacation?”  
  
Unfortunately, the language differences led to a slight misunderstanding there. “No Darling, I’m on holiday, I needed to get away after Algy’s funeral.

I quickly tried to recover. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were mourning the loss of a loved one.”

“I’m not, he was my husband.” She replied snarkily.

A little surprised by that, I continued. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s death.”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t be if you knew him my dear; if gave the chance to take a well deserved holiday, Daphne suggested a change of scenery, Paris she said. A wild romance is just what you need to take your mind off the inquest.”

She paused and then sighed.

“Well the closest I came to romance was being wooed by a drunken Breton chef, I was thinking about cutting my holiday short and returning to Hemel Hempstead...that was, until last night.”

A distant look appeared in her eyes, memories clearly coming to her.

“What happened to you last night?” I asked.

She smiled. “I was stricken Mr. Stobbart. Cupid’s arrow has cleft my bosom.”  
 _  
‘He couldn’t really miss.’_

She began to explain about meeting this amazing man last night, claiming him to be the man she was waiting for all her life.

I smiled a little.

“I’m glad he finally turned up after all these years.

Her expression darkened however. “Ah, but it was not to be, he was merely toying with my affections, and if I ever catch up with him...he’s dead.”  
  
I grimaced; this was a brave man. I wondered however; when I asked she gave his name as Moerlin, the same name I saw in the register; a possible fake name Kahn was using. I had to be sure however, so I took out the photograph Nico had given me.

“Do you recognize this man?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “My God it’s him, that’s Moerlin.”  
  
“Merlin, you mean, King Arthur’s wizard?” I joked.

She shook her head. “Good God no, M’sieur Moerlin is a fellow guest; that’s the man I’ve been telling you about, that’s the man who spurned me.”  
  
I put the photo away, time for the truth.  
  
“The man you know as Moerlin is a fake.” I told her; responding to her confusion. “He’s a murdered, he also uses the name Khan.”  
  
“I am shocked Mr. Stobbart, shaken. I took him to be a gentleman, a man of honour.” She gasped. “You know, I’d rather like to assist you in stitching him up.”  
  
This was my chance, but I needed to know more.

“When did you last see Moerlin?”

“No more than hour ago, he came downstairs and spoke to that clerk chappie.” She told me. “Something passed hands, a bundle of papers or something, the clerk put it in the hotel safe and Moerlin went out.”  
  
So, now I had my plan, I had to check Khan’s room, and if what was put on the safe was what I thought it was, I had to get my hands on it.

First things first, getting into Khan’s room.

“Could you distract the clerk while I borrow a key.” I asked Lady Piermont.

She started. “Good heavens, are you asking me to aid you in a criminal act?”  
  
“Oh no.” I said quickly. “It’s the key to an empty room.”  
  
“And why, pray tell, do you want to gain access to an empty room?” She asked.

I explained. “It’s next to the room the killer is using.”  
  
She grinned. “Ah, you’re hoping to eavesdrop on Moerlin?”

“I’m hoping there might be a connecting door.”  
  
“Well, how can I refuse.” She remarked. “I shouldn’t think my feminine charms will be much use in this case, but a good dose of English arrogance should do the trick.”  
  
With that she stood up and together we made our way over to the desk.

“I say, you there, flunky!” Lady Piermont greeted the clerk, unnecessarily loud. “Listen carefully, you do understand English, don’t you?”  
  
He nodded. “But of course madam.”  
  
She smiled. “Good, I wish to deposit some jewellery for safekeeping.”  
  
“I understand.”

With that Lady Piermont handed the jewellery over, the clerk went to put it in the safe and she winked at me before leaving. I took my chance and swiped the key before hurrying up the staircase before the clerk returned.

Upstairs I checked the key and noted that it was indeed for room twenty-one. I couldn’t get into Khan’s room. But I could get into the one next to it; perhaps there was a way there. So I unlocked the door and slipped inside. The room was rather fancy with a large bed, an impressive antique wardrobe; but what interested me was the window. I hurried over to it and opened it, leaning out. It was risky, but I could climb up onto the window ledge and shimmy across to the window of room twenty-two; which by good fortune, was open.

‘ _Okay, here we go...’_ I thought anxiously.

Not daring to look down I climbed out and began to make my way across. When I finally reached the window I looked around carefully before dropping into the room. I had been told Khan had left, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I began to look around for anything of use. There was nothing in the cabinet next to the bed, the bed itself was freshly made and clean. Plantard’s briefcase was there, but empty.

That settled it. _‘Whatever was in here, is now in the safe, I have to go and get it…somehow.’_

But I knew that clerk would be a pain again; I checked the wardrobe, inside was a pair of purple suit pants, neatly laundered and pressed, but with nothing else. I sighed and turned towards the door, it was time for me to try and deal with the clerk again.

But as I began to open the door, I froze. I could just see out into the hallway and standing there; wearing the chequered pants from the photo, along with the reddish brown shirt and purple jacket of the other suit, was Khan.

‘ _Uh, oh...not good.’_ I thought.

I had the kind of feeling in my stomach that would usually send me running to the bathroom. I had no other choice but to hide in the only available hiding place, the wardrobe. I slipped inside, closing the door and pushed myself back into a far corner. Praying silently as I heard the door open and close. Kahn was in the room. Then, to my horror, the wardrobe door opened; not the one I was hiding behind, but still; it was daunting. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. It didn’t happen When I opened my eyes, I was still in the wardrobe, the purple suit pants were missing, he had taken them. I waited in an agony of suspense, even after I heard the room door open and close again, just to be safe. Finally, convinced it was safe again, I exited the wardrobe, relieved, shocked at how close I had come. I then saw that Khan had chanced, now likely wearing his full purple suit; the chequered pants now lay on the bed. I went to check them, actually wondering if the guy was colour-blind. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found two items in the pockets of the pants. A match-book that bore the name Club Alamut; but nothing else; and an Electrician’s ID card which read, Thomas Moerlin, Gruber Electronics Corporation. With those items in my pockets I left the hotel room and made my way downstairs, relieved that Khan seemed to have left again.

Back downstairs I approached the desk again, the clerk had returned.

“What now M’sieur?” He asked.

I decided to be direct, I pulled out the ID card. “Do you recognize this card?”

He started. “That is M’sieur Moerlin’s property!”

“That’s right, Moerlin the Murderer; I want to see what he’s left in your safe.” I told him sharply.

The clerk shook his head. “Impossible; I cannot betray his confidence, no matter what you say he has done.”  
  
I sighed; so much for that; well; I guess I could see if Lady Piermont could help again. So I made my way back to the piano.

“Hi ma’am.” I greeted her again.

She turned and smiled widely. “Hello George, what can I do for you now?”

I pulled out the ID card. “I found this in Moerlin’s room.”  
  
“So, that deceitful little man is passing himself off as an electrician is he?” She snarled.

“Uh-huh, this guy probably has a million faces.” I told her. “I showed the pass to the clerk, hoping he’d give me what Moerlin put in the safe, but he wouldn’t buy it, he’s too scared.”

“I’ll give him something to be sacred of.” She snapped. “Follow me, George!”

With that she stood and, with me following, made her way back over the clerk.

She stopped before him and he paused, clearly seeing her expression.

“Did you place a package from Moerlin in the hotel safe?” She asked and, when he confirmed it; she added. “And did my friend here show you Moerlin’s identification.”

“Indeed he did but...” The clerk explained hesitantly. “He isn’t Moerlin; I cannot give him the package, that is against the law.”  
  
She cut him off, her voice shrill. “I happen to be a Justice of the Peace, you silly man, I am the law. If he tries anything shoot him George.”

“My pleasure, Lady Piermont.” I replied casually; amazed at her daring.

The clerk however gave in at that point and went to fetch the contents of the safe. He handed it to me and Lady Piermont happily returned to the piano. I was now in possession of a tightly rolled piece of parchment. Some sort of manuscript; so this is what Plantard was killed for, but why?

‘ _I won’t check it out until I’m back at Nico’s apartment, but...those thugs outside; what if they...’_ I thought to myself; worried. _‘I have to; find some way of getting this out of the hotel, without going through them...’_

I was shocked I was even considering this; due to the age of the parchment, but it was the only option I saw. So I hurried upstairs, getting myself into room twenty-one again.

Once in the room I approached the window and looked down; there was an alleyway below; the same alleyway that I had seen the entrance of when I first arrived. This was my only hope; I removed the manuscript from my pocket and dropped it down, it fluttered down and thankfully landed softly on the ground. I turned and left the room, letting it lock again and then headed back downstairs. With the clerk distracted I was able to casually drop the key next to the counter, and then went and exited the hotel.

“Just a minute M’sieur.”

I turned, the thugs had moved from their posts and were flanking me. It was the Weasel man who had spoken.

“What’s the problem?” I asked?”

The Weasel man replied. “No problem, if you cooperate.”

“What do you want?”

“Just a routine security check.” He explained. “Nothing to worry yourself about.”

I dubiously accepted and the Gorilla man; revealed to be named Flap, began frisking me like a police officer, even going through my pockets.

“Nothing Guido.” He said at last; naming Weasel man. “Zilch.”

I was angry but luckily they decided to let me go. I said nothing else; just made my way around to the alleyway.

Smiling to myself I approached the manuscript lying on the ground and knelt down.

‘ _If this manuscript is what Flap and Guido are after, they’re going to be disappointed.’_ I thought to myself.

Pleased with the result I picked it up and pocketed the manuscript before turning and leaving the alleyway and the Hotel Ubu, heading back to Nico’s apartment to check out this manuscript and hopefully, finally, figure out why Plantard had been killed.


	6. The Secret

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**The Secret**

Returning to Rue Jarry, I entered the apartment building and began making my way up, taking the stairs two at a time, eager to share my new discovery with Nico. I knocked on the door and, once invited, I entered.

“You’re just not going to believe what I’ve found.” I said the moment I closed the door behind me.

She turned to me and sighed. “It’s not another part of the clown’s costume is it?”

Grinning I hurried over to the table, took the manuscript from my pocket and unrolled it, laying it out on the table. Nico stood up and we both bent over the table, examining it closely.

“It’s a medieval manuscript.” I explained. “Khan left it in the safe at the Ubu.”

Nico looked amazed. “It’s incredible, is this what he took from Plantard?”

I nodded. “It could be, which means, it’s worth enough to kill for.”

It was then Nico noticed something, she pointed at the image in the exact centre of the manuscript, a seal of sorts.

“Look there, two guys on the same horse.”

“Oh yeah, maybe they couldn’t afford one each?” I commented. “What of it?”

She looked up at me. “Have you ever heard of the Knights Templar? Their official seal, was an image of two knights sharing a horse. Whatever this manuscript is, it’s connected with the Templars.”

“How come you know about these knights?”

“I learned about them while writing an article on the crusades.” She told me.

We both sat down at that point.

Smiling Nico prepared to tell her story.

“This guy, named Hughes de Payens, arrived one day in the court of the King of Jerusalem. He offered to protect the Christian pilgrims for the displaced Muslim armies. The King would be able to promise safe passage to pilgrims in the Holy Land; safer journeys meant more pilgrims and pilgrims meant trade and wealth. The Templars proved invaluable to the King as a mercenary army. It is said they never asked how many the enemy numbered, just where they were, and as time went one, the Templars grew in number and wealth. They were so rich, even Kings came to them for loans. But, at the height of their power, they fell foul of the King of France. He rounded them up and turned them over to the Inquisition. Thousands of Templars were tortured and confessed to heresy. Of course, at the hands of the Inquisition, there wasn’t much they wouldn’t confess to, the last Grand Master, Jacques de Molay was burned alive. But, the treasure of the Knights Templar was never found.”

I sat in awe for a moment, processing what I just heard.  
  
“Jeez.” I said at last. “So the treasure is out there waiting to be discovered?”

She shook her head. “If there ever was a treasure, it’s been lost for six hundred years. Anyway, we’re supposed to be investigating a serial killer, not a medieval treasure trove.”

I thought about Khan and Flap and Guido, it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination, I felt, that they

were working together.

While note exactly raising the point, I mentioned it.

“But maybe that’s what the clown and his accomplices are after. Maybe this manuscript is the key.”

Nico thought for a moment. “You better leave it here for safe keeping. Think about it George, you said it yourself, one man has already died for it. Besides that parchment is fragile.”

“Okay, I’m convinced.” I told her. “You hold on to it.”

I thought for a moment.

“Okay, let’s take another look at the manuscript, see what we can figure out.”

She nodded and we leaned in. The manuscript didn’t have a lot of text, it seemed to mostly be pictures. The seal and what I guessed was the symbol of the Templar cross divided the manuscript into four parts, each part showed a detailed illustration of some sort. The meaning of any of the illustrations escaped us however.

Nevertheless we tried to think.

Starting with the top left picture. “There’s a guy with a sword and bull...”

“The only mythological bull I know of is the Minotaur, but he was only half-bull.” Nico replied.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’d like to be half a bull, even if it was the bottom half.”

“What’s that object between them?”

I looked closer. “It looks like a gem, supported by a tripod?”

I shook my head, this wasn’t working.

Hoping the next image would be clearer we examined the top right image.  
  
“There’s a guy working on a loom.” I muttered. “He’s weaving a carpet or tapestry...”

“Or a duvet cover.” Nico chimed in before remarking. “It’s a clue to a place I reckon, somewhere famed for weaving and ships.”

I raised an eyebrow at that, going by what the picture seemed to show. “Where folk live in barrels?”

“It beats cardboard boxes.”

Laughing a little at that, we turned our attention to the bottom left image.

“There’s an image of a knight with a crystal ball...there’s something written on the scroll beside the knight.” I observed.

Nico nodded. “Yeah, but it’s written in Latin. Per Disciplinam Meam Lux Videbis.”

“By my...teachings, you will see the light?”

“You speak Latin?” She remarked, amazed. “Where’d you learn a trick like that?”

“A trick, I studied law okay, I can read Latin.” I explained; perhaps a little testily.

Nico seemed to realize too. “My you’re touchy. Tell me that again.”

I was more confident in my translation this time. “By my teachings, you will be enlightened.”

Still, none of the images made any sense to us. Just one more image to go; the bottom right.

I observed it. “There’s a woman looking at her reflection in a mirror, but the reflection, has three hideous faces?”

“She reminds me of the Wicked Queen in Snow White.” Nico commented.

“She’s the one who said ‘Mirror, Mirror, on the wall’ wasn’t she?” I asked. “She made me cry so much when I was a kid, mom carried me out of the movie theatre.”

“She didn’t frighten me in the least.”

Like I said, I was only a kid.” I replied defensively. “I didn’t like the crocodile in Peter Pan either.”

All that aside however, we couldn’t make heads nor tails of the manuscript.

Sitting back down Nico sighed.

“Let’s face it, we need help George.” She said. “Someone who knows about these things.”

I shook my head incredulously. “Who do you suggest, Indiana Jones?”

She smiled lightly. “I know a guy who specializes in medieval studies, his name is Lobineau.”

“Huh, some stuffy old fossil who gets horny over ancient relics I suppose.”

“Far from it.” She replied indignantly. “Andre isn’t the stereotypical professor you have in mind.”

I conceded and asked. “Where can I find this Lobineau guy?”

“At the Crune Museum, I’ll give you the address.”

She wrote it down and handed it over to me. I pocketed it and sighed.

“Well, I better be going, guess I’ll check out the Crune Museum.”

She nodded. “I’m sure you’ll find it useful, George.”

So, bidding Nico farewell; I stood up and left the apartment, heading downstairs and back out into the crisp air of Fall.


	7. New Destination

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**New Destination**

Looking around as I exited the apartment I couldn’t deny my excitement, this was turning into quite an adventure, not quite the vacation I had in mind, but still. Leaving Rue Jarry I following the directions Nico had given until I finally reached the Crune Museum, it was a large stone building with pillars flanking the entrance, simple yet elegant; the courtyard was bland of any decoration with simple brick buildings around it, the large but normal sidewalk that led into the courtyard was uncovered and the museum actually stood alone, separate from the other buildings, with a collection of dense spiky bushes blocked access to the side and rear of the building. Focusing on the task at hand, I entered the museum, inside I found a single large room, featuring many exhibits from varying places, of varying sorts too. Many of them were not of great interest, looking rather like common place items truthfully. But there were some that stood out, such as a beautiful tapestry, an Egyptian sarcophagus and a Native American totem pole. There was only one other person in the museum, a dark haired man with a small moustache and dark steely eyes that never seemed to blink, clad in uniform, marching around the museum with an air of self-importance. I had to find this Lobineau guy Nico spoke of, so, might as well start here.

Approaching the uniformed man I spoke to get his attention.

“Excuse me.”  
  
He turned and spoke, his voice precise and authoritative.

“Oui, M’sieur?”

I had to clarify. “I beg your pardon, are you Andre Lobineau?”

“Oh no, fancy you mistaking me for him?!” The man remarked, almost laughing. “No, I am the Deputy Custodian.”  
  
I nodded slowly; in other words, a guard. “But, Lobineau does work here?”

“Work?” The guard replied, incredulous. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call it that, he studies here most days, but as you can see, not today.”  
  
I nodded slowly. “Right, well, thanks, I’ll see you later.”

Nodding sharply the guard resumed his patrol. I continued to look around the museum, seeing if I could find anything interesting or useful. My surprise couldn’t be greater when I approached a display case right in the middle of the room, for there, within the display case, was a spindly tripod, blackened with age and pitted with rust; but otherwise _identical_ to the tripod on the manuscript.

‘ _Could it be?’_ I wondered

Leaning closer, I saw a tag in the case which identified the tripod as having been found at the site of a Templar Preceptory in Lochmarne, Ireland.

“Ireland!” I burst out.

“What’s that?”  
  
I turned to see the guard facing me, raised eyebrow.

I stammered. “This tripod was found in Ireland.”

Shaking his head the guard replied. “I will have to ask you to keep your voice down.”

“I’m sorry.” I said quickly. “I was excited.”

The guard simply returned to his duties. With no sign of Lobineau yet with this new discovery, I hurried to leave the museum.

Exiting the museum I contemplated my options.

‘ _That tripod is definitely the one on the manuscript, I...that’s going to complicate things, especially if we need it, it’s not like we can just take it after all.’_ I reflected. _‘Still, it was found in Ireland, this place...Lochmarne...Hmmm, I could go there and check things out, maybe ask around. The tripod on the manuscript had a gem on it, but I didn’t see a gem in there.’_

It was a long shot, I knew that, but it was a possibility to consider.

Making up my mind I began walking. _‘Time to go, the gem might possibly still be in Lochmarne, I should go check it out, if nothing else, I’ll find out more about the tripod I’m sure.’_

So I left the museum and began making my way through Paris, heading for the airport. Once there I quickly made sure I could book a flight to Ireland and finally took off, heading out in search of Lochmarne and any clues I could hopefully find there.


	8. Seeking Answers

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Seeking Answers**

I had been extremely lucky I had to admit; seated on the bus heading for the village of Lochmarne. After getting a flight to Ireland and landing in Dublin I searched and finally got a bus to Lochmarne, it was my only chance it turned out as the driver revealed there was only ever one bus service from Dublin to Lochmarne a day. Before long I was the only person on the bus except for the driver. As we drove we soon found ourselves deep in the Irish countryside; there would be little in the way of actual civilization here from how it looked. Finally, after a long bus ride I found myself looking out the window at a ruined old castle on top of a hill, a road around the side of the hill led down to a small village area. Driving down and stopping on a road in front of an old country pub, the driver then stepped out.

“Well here we are, Lochmarne, no idea why you wanna come here, but there it is.” He remarked. “You’ll be stuck here until tomorrow, once I leave that’s it until this exact time tomorrow.”

I just nodded. “Fine by me, I’ll find somewhere to stay.”

With that I got off the bus which drove away and I paused to look around. Lochmarne was little more than a pub, a few other small buildings and the castle on the hill, a small, rustic but undeniably beautiful little place.

‘ _That castle must be where the Tripod was found, I wonder...the manuscript showed a gem that goes with it, could it be here?’_ I pondered.

I knew my best chance at finding out was to look and ask around.

The pub was a quaint building, simple brickwork with green signs in yellow lettering. It was announcing it’s name, McDevitt’s. Hanging around outside the bar was a teenage boy, no older than fourteen with short brown hair and brown eyes; he wore simple jeans and a simple red T-shirt with dark green jacket, simple sneakers and a blue cap. Looking around some more I saw a path across a small side street by the pub, heading up to the castle. I decided to start there and so crossed the street before heading up the path, heading for the castle itself. Reaching the top of the hill I stopped, the castle was an impressive sight, even in ruins. It towered above me, the crumbling walls making any progress inside impossible. The only way in, it seemed, were a huge pair of gates made of solid age blackened wood. I knew right away pushing them open would be impossible. The only other feature in this area was a large farm cart with a massive, crazily stacked pile of hay bales. Lounging on the side of the cart was a middle aged farmer, a craggy faced man with a greyish brown beard and moustache, dark eyes, his hair, if he had any,was hidden beneath a green floppy cap. He was clad in simple clothes with, most notably, manure caked boots. He was engrossed in a book and not too concerned about farming.

‘ _Still, maybe he might know some things. Can’t hurt to ask.’_ I thought to myself.

So I approached him, determined to strike up some conversation.

There was one little detail I had to deal with first.

“Pardon me, but do you speak English?”

He looked up from the book and replied. “Well now, what if I was to say no? An implication of cognizance shrouded in denial, a pretty poser of a paradox indeed.”  
  
I gave him the look I perfected when I was twelve and was going to be the greatest hypnotist of all time. It was a killer.

“Are you attempting to hypnotise me or is it the constipation you’re suffering?” The farmer queried.

I was a little out of practice. So, composing myself I asked the first thing that came to mind.

“What can you tell me about the castle?”

“Not much I’m sorry to say.” He replied. “Most of it’s history is long forgotten, ab, but I these old stones could only speak, what stories they’d tell. Stories to make your toes curl and your blood run cold. You know, this castle is said to be hundreds of years old.”  
  
I pondered for a moment. “Who built the castle?”  
  
“Mad Phelan, the first Lord of Lochmarne. Well, I say Lord, but he was little more than a village chieftain.” He explained. “Apparently the castle was built over the site of an old Templar Preceptory.”

That caught my attention. “So this was the site of that place?”  
  
“Yes, right here on Temple Hill, Phelan built right on top of the old walls. It’s said that deep under this castle, is a Templar Chapel.” The Farmer told me.

I nodded and said farewell. It was an interesting history lesson, but I wasn’t finding what I was looking for. So I left the castle and made my way back down to McDevitt’s.

I paused for a moment, considering, but then decided not to talk to the kid yet. Instead I headed inside the pub. It was a rather remarkable place, rustic yet lively. Not that large but still quite delightful. The bar took up three-quarters of the far wall to my left, forming an L shape with a hinged opening. Behind it was an ancient dishwasher, beer pumps, a door leading into darkness and a phone. To the far corner, a few feet from the bar was a single square table. In the middle of the room a circular table. Finally, around the ‘corner’ was an L-shaped sofa. Seated on this sofa was a man with a fiddle, playing away, he was so absorbed in his playing that he seemed oblivious to everyone else in the bar.

I raised an eyebrow looking around. _‘Seems like it doesn’t matter anyway, everyone else in the bar is oblivious to him.’_

Shaking my head at this I continued to look around, observing the other people in the bar, there were only five people in the bar, not counting me and the fiddler. The first man I noted was in the corner of the room, on a stool between the bar and the sofa. He leaned on the bar, holding a pint of bear. He was slightly rotund and had brown hair just around the back and sides of his head, brown eyes and was dressed rather casually. He sat in the corner as if he was a permanent fixture.

The man sitting next to him, also leaning on the bar, had a vacant look on his cow-like face that said ‘nobody home’. He had otherwise neat brown hair, brown eyes and was again casually dressed. His elbow rested on a somewhat soggy piece of towelling, which I knew might come in handy. But I turned my attention from it for a moment, instead observing the bartender instead. He was a tall man, completely bald but with an impressive white beard, his grey eyes were bloodshot and tired looking as he wiped glass after glass. He was slightly more smartly dressed, as was the young red haired brown-eyed man who sat at the circular table in the middle of the room. He seemed rather jumpy and nervous, continually checking his watch and looking around. The final occupant of the room was seated at the square table. He was an elderly dark skinned man with white hair around the back and sides of his head, connected to a thick white moustache and dark eyes. His clothing was dark and shabby and he kept sneezing. While not sure it was the best approach, it was the only way. So I approached the man with the towel under his elbow and waited. He lifted his arm to drink and I took my chance to swipe the towel from under his arm. He didn’t even notice when his elbow came back down.

Pocketing the towel I decided it was time to start talking to the people here, to gather more information. I approached the man who sat as a permanent fixture first.

“Hello there, my name is George Stobbart.” I introduced myself.

He turned to me and smiled. “Pleased to meet you I’m sure, I’m O’Brien, can I help you?”

I thought for a moment, what would be the best subject to start with.

Eventually I decided. “What can you tell me about the castle on the hill?”  
  
Mr. O’Brien smiled wider. “It’s a fine sight now, isn’t it. Dates back to the tenth century you know, most of the existing building was added much later of course.”

“Are the ruins open to the public?”

“Oh no, it’s much too dangerous.” O’Brien insisted. “Anyway there’s nothing of interest remaining.”

I shook my head. “How can I get into the castle.”  
  
“Well those walls were built specifically to stop people getting in Mr. Stobbart, but I dare say you’ll find the way, if you’ve the will.” O’Brien replied.

I smiled lightly, not exactly helpful, but encouraging.

I decided to try and different tact. “What can you tell me about the tripod that was found in the castle?”

“None there’s a bone of contention and controversy. It was dug up by an Englishman of the archaeological persuasion.” O’Brien replied calmly.

That caught my attention. “Who was this Englishman?”

“Professor Peagram, the same man who dug up the gem.” Mr. O’Brien told me.

Another thing that caught my attention; the gem, the gem that went with the tripod on the manuscript most likely. I now knew who had dug them up, another possible lead.

I now had a few new questions to ask.

“Do you know where I can find Professor Peagram?” I queried.

Mr. O’Brien shook his head. “You’re too late to meet that fella.”

“Is he...dead?”  
  
“Not that, but he’s gone from the village, a sore point with our esteemed host I might.” Mr. O’Brien informed me.

“Why has Peagram’s departure upset the landlord?” I asked.  
  
Mr. O’Brien smiled lightly. “He’s lost a paying guest that’s why, more than that there’s the question of an unsettled bill. Poor Michael’s seen red over the business and I don’t blame him. Now that all the fuss about the gem has died down, perhaps we can get back to normal.”

I nodded, this was getting more and more interesting.

“What can you tell me about the gem that Peagram found.”

“Now there’s a gem that should never have been taken.” Mr. O’Brien replied. “A man would have to be full of greed to covet that stone.”

Before I could ask anything else he suddenly glared at me.

“What’s your interest in the jewel, you’re not a reporter are you?”

“Oh no.” I replied quickly.

“Thank the Lord for that.” Mr. O’Brien muttered.

Trying not to let that get to me I queried. “What can you tell me about the landlord?”  
  
“Mick Leary?” O’Brien replied in surprise. “He’s what you call, a ‘would be sophisticate’. The trouble is, his idea of sophistication extends as far as putting paper in the lavatory.”  
  
The vacant looking man sitting next to O’Brien spoke up at that point.

“I never worked out why he did dat. It’s much to dark in dere to read.”

“That’s true.” Mr. O’Brien commented. “Have you ever run your hand over the back of the door...the graffiti is written in Braille.”

I nodded slowly, a little taken aback by this but said farewell and turned to the vacant looking man next.

I tried to think how to approach this, but then decided to just go for it.

“Hi there, I’m George Stobbart.”  
  
He turned to me and grinned. “Hello dere mister, Patrick Doyle, what can I do for you?”  
  
I thought for a moment, where to take this.

I decided to start simple. “What can you tell me about the castle?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know much about anything, you should ask Mr. O’Brien here, he does joined up writing.” Was Doyle’s response.

So much for that, so I tried something else. “Do you know Professor Peagram?”

Doyle laughed. “Do I know him, do I know the good professor himself. No, I don’t. I mean, I know who he is, but I don’t know him to talk to.”

I shook my head at that but pressed on.

“Do you know anything about Peagram’s excavation.”  
  
“Only that he didn’t have the right tools for the job.” Doyle replied. “What he needed was shovels and JCB.”  
  
I fought to keep a straight face, forming a rapid opinion of this man already. “Peagram was digging for historical remains, not coal.”  
  
“Is that a fact, what the hell for?”

It was O’Brien who answered. “It’s the science of archaeology Pat, understanding how people used to live by what they left behind. One day archaeologists might be digging up OUR remains.”

“Is that a fact, I wonder what they’d find?” Doyle replied.

O’Brien scowled. “Well, it won’t be arrowheads and beakers, fast food cartons and flavoured condoms most likely.”  
  
I couldn’t deny, I wasn’t finding much out here. But I needed to persevere.

So, pressing on I got Doyle’s attention again.

“Did anyone from the village work at Peagram’s dig?”  
  
“I tried it meself.” Doyle remarked. “But that high and mighty history man called me, incontinent.”  
  
I suppressed the urge to sigh, guessing and hoping he meant incompetent.

Doyle huffed. “What a nerve, hadn’t I dug more holes dan the rest of dem up together.”  
  
I wasn’t going to get anything useful out of this man, so bidding him farewell I turned to the bartender.

“Top of the morning to ya!” I greeted jovially.

The bartender, Michael Leary, put down the glass he was cleaning and looked at me disdainfully. “I beg your pardon.”

“Well, that’s what you Irish say isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “Do you want something, or are you just flaunting your xenophobia?”

“Uh, well, I was trying to be sociable.” I stammered.

“Hmph.” Leary snorted. “Is it a room you’re after?”  
  
I remembered what the bus driver told me. “That’s not a bad idea, do you have a vacancy?”  
  
“I could, if you don’t mind waiting until the last guest checks out.” He replied.

“No problem, when will that be?” I queried, although his unflappable response left me massively startled.

“When the undertaker comes to collect him.”

Still disconcerted by that, I tried to focus, trying to get more information.

As I thought, my hand went into my pocket and I felt two things, I decided to ask about this first.  
  
“Have you served any, clowns lately”? I asked, having felt the clown’s nose.

“No, you’re the first today.” Leary replied blandly.

I sighed and instead showed the photograph of Khan.

“Have you seen this man?”

“Maybe, what do you want with him?” Leary asked wearily.

I put the photo away, glaring. “I’ve got a score to settle.”  
  
“Now look, I don’t want any trouble in the bar mister.” Leary warned. “If it’s a fight you want, see Father Mahoney.”  
  
“A priest, a man of the cloth?” I asked incredulously.

“Sure.” Leary shrugged. “He also teaches the boys how to box at the youth club. According to Mahoney it develops character.”

He turned to Doyle. “Isn’t that right Pat, didn’t he teach you the art of pugilism?”

No answer.

“Doyle!”

The man finally turned. “Sorry Michael, I was miles away, what did you say?”

“Never mind.” Leary sighed and turned back to me.

I decided to talk about some new information I had gathered.

So, preparing myself I asked.

“Do you know Professor Peagram?”  
  
“Indeed I do?” Leary remarked, an edge coming to his voice. “Are you a friend of his by any chance?”

I shook my head, answering truthfully. “Oh no, I’m just trying to track him down.”

“Me too, that son of a bitch should be locked away.” Leary growled.

I was starting to sense some tension. I recalled O’Brien’s words, things were starting to make some sense.

“Did Peagram stay here?” I asked.

Leary nodded grimly. “Yes he did, six nights plus breakfast, best room in the house.”

Doyle turned to us at that point and remarked. “That’s the one with the bed.”  
  
“Um, could I see Peagram’s room?” I asked, awkward at what I just heard.

“I’m afraid it’s been taken by one of the brothers from the reformatory.” Leary explained. “They come here every year for spiritual refreshment.”

“That’s a good one, their idea of refreshment is a gut full of stout.” Doyle laughed.

Leary sighed. “I wouldn’t want to disturb a man of of God, especially not a big fella from the bad boys home.”

“I don’t blame you, Michael.” Doyle muttered. “That brother’s got muscles like a muscleman.”  
  
I wasn’t going to get much more out of this, but I decided, since I was here, I might as well be sociable. So I ordered a glass of beer and stayed with the group at the bar for a while until I finished the drink. After that I turned my attention to the remaining two men. When I asked to borrow the towel, Leary had told me the name of the old man sneezing in the corner, Old Ron. I still didn’t know the young nervous man however.

So, readying myself I went over to see said man.

“Hi there, my name’s George Stobbart.” I greeted.

The man looked around rapidly, checked his watch and shifted in his seat, looking even more nervous than before.

Finally he spoke, stammering. “Pleased to meet you mister, my name is Sean Fitzgerald.”

I thought for a moment what to talk to this guy about, before deciding the best method was to be friendly first.

“Can I buy you another drink?”  
  
“Oh, no thank you, I shouldn’t be drinking at all.” He blurted out. “I’m on tablets for me nerves...more than a pint and I’ll pass out.”  
  
I grimaced at that but nodded and then decided to see what he knew.

So I asked. “What can you tell me about the castle on the hill?”

“Well, I used to play there sometimes when I was a kid.” He explained. “Then one of the littleuns fell off the wall, broke his head and died, we didn’t go up there anymore.”  
  
“You haven’t been up there recently?” I queried.

“No.”  
  
Okay, so much for that, I considered for a moment, I still had a couple of other things to ask him about.

“Do you know Professor Peagram?” I asked next.

“He’s the archaeologist, isn’t he?” Sean replied hesitantly.

I nodded. “That’s right.”  
  
“No, I don’t really know him.” He then answered.

Given how well known Peagram seemed to be, Sean knowing he was an archaeologist and yet not really knowing him wasn’t that surprising.

Still, I was curious; so I asked. “Did you ever work at Peagram’s dig?”  
  
“Ha, what ever gave you that idea?” He gave a nervous laugh.

With a sigh I bid him farewell and headed to the last person in the bar I was yet to talk to.

As I approached Old Ron I saw, to my shock, he pulled out a length of what appeared to be wire, twisted into a rough circle, it certainly made me nervous. But then he put it away and I finished my approach.

“Hi there old timer.” I greeted.

He looked up and growled. “What?”  
  
He then sneezed again so I commented. “Nasty cold you’ve got there.”  
  
As soon as the words left my lips I regretted them.

“Is there such a thing as a cold which isn’t nasty.” He snapped. “I put the question to Father Mahony, Father says I, why were we born to suffer snot?”  
  
“What did he say?”  
  
“He said it’s my reward for being out all night like a sinner.” Ron replied before sneezing a few more times and then growling again. “Pious Prig.”  
  
Okay, I could see this guy was gonna be hard work, so I racked my brain, trying to find a topic.

He beat me to it. “You’re not a policeman are you?”  
  
“What?” I gasped, startled.

“Police...no, I’d know if you were.” He replied.

“What’s that you’re making?”

The man grinned. “It’s a necklace me buckoo, a necklace for my pretty one. When my little lover feels this round her slender neck, she’ll be all mine.”  
  
With that he broke into rather cruel laughter.

I shook my head. “If I was a woman I wouldn’t think much about a wire necklace.”

“It’s not made for a woman.” He told me with an evil smirk. “I’ve got my sight on tastier dishes than woman, flesh as tender as a newborn babe, bones as smooth as a maiden, rabbit lad. That’s what gets my juices flowing.”  
  
He broke into that evil laugh again.

I now realized the horrific truth.

“Ah, so you’re making snares to catch rabbits.” I replied, realizing now this man was in fact a poacher.

“You bet, you got a problem with that?”  
  
I glared. “Darn right I do, isn’t it painful?”

The man shrugged. “Only if I get me fingers caught.”

“I mean the rabbits.” I said through gritted teeth. “Do they feel much pain.”  
  
“You bet.” He laughed again.

Shaking my head I thought for a moment, needed to distract him, ask some more questions and then, get that wire away from him. It might be useful.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

He shook his head. “Very kind I’m sure, but I don’t drink the stuff Leary sells.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, confused.

“I’ve seen what it can do.” He replied, his voice becoming slightly higher in pitch.

Shaking my head I went straight to asking questions.

“Do you know Professor Peagram?”

“That’s the scrawny fellah who was poking about the castle.” He remarked. “No I don’t know him.”  
  
I sighed. “How can I get into the castle?”  
  
“Don’t even think about it, Lochmarne Castle...is haunted.” Ron burst out.

“Ghosts don’t bother me, I still want to visit the castle.” I replied firmly, unable to believe what I was hearing.

Ron snorted. “Then you’re a fool.”  
  
“Have you ever seen the ghost?”  
  
“To be sure, and a horrible sight it was.” He remarked. “A wee horrible beastie, stunted build, scraggly wings, horrible...right up there on the castle wall.”

I sighed and said goodbye to him. I honestly didn’t know what to make of all this, but I was slowly yet surely getting somewhere. Taking my chances I waited until he set the wire down on the table and looked away, sneezing and quickly scooped it up, hiding it in my pockets and then went to leave the pub, I had to find more clues and there was someone I hadn’t yet spoken to, someone outside.


	9. Sudden Panic

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Sudden Panic**

Exiting the bar I turned to the only person I’d seen in Lochmarne so far but not talked to, the teenage boy hanging around outside the bar. So, turning to him I began to speak.

“Hi there.”  
  
He straightened up and turned to me, belligerent. “What?”  
  
“What’s your name kid?” I asked first.

He glowered. “Who are you calling kid, who the hell are you?”  
  
A little taken aback, I replied jovially. “I’m George Stobbart and I’m with the good guys.”  
  
“You’re a head case, mister.” The boy snarked, crossing his arms. “A few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

I rolled my eyes. “Cut the crap and tell me your name.”

“Liam Maguire.” He said at last.

“What are you doing hanging around the bar, Maguire?” I asked curiously.

He suddenly bowed his head, moving his arms behind his back and scuffing the ground with his foot.

“I’m on the run.” He admitted. “From me dad.”

“Why?” I asked startled. “You do something bad?”  
  
He immediately reacted to that. “I ain’t done nothing boss.”  
  
Suddenly I began to get the picture.

So I asked gently. “You can me kid, is it your dad?”  
  
“Oh sir, he drinks, every penny, down his evil throat.” Maguire began to explain. “And there’s me poor old mother, bed-ridden and dying of presumption. I tried to buy her medicine, chopped firewood for Father Mahoney till me fingers bled, the old skinflint cheated me too. But I took the pennies he gave me back home. ‘Look ma’ says I, ‘see what your own darlin’ son has earned with his own flesh and blood’. When suddenly, me dad appears and grabs the loot.”  
  
He stopped for a moment, shaking his head.

He then leaned back, arms crossed again, before performing what I guessed was an impression of his father.

“I’m off to Dublin, heavy drinking, says he, watch out till I get back.” He relaxed and spoke normally again. “That’s why I ran away.”  
  
Something in the grin on his face told me he wasn’t being strictly truthful, compared to him Huckleberry Finn was a candidate for altar boy of the year. Still I brushed it aside and tried to focus, thinking what to ask him about.

Finally deciding I asked. “I’m looking for a man who dresses like a clown.”

“Here in Lochmarne, they all dress like clowns.” Maguire replied.

“The man I’m looking for is a dangerous psychotic.”

“Jesus, just like that film I saw.” Maguire gasped. “There’s this clown see, who’s after this kid who saw him kill a guy. He tries to warn the sheriff, only no one believes him. Then, while he’s in the tub, the clown cuts him with a chainsaw.”

I froze, startled. “My God, that doesn’t sound suitable for a kid like you.”  
  
“Who are you calling kid?” He snapped; before clearly lying. “I’m twenty-five.”  
  
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah right, you’re not a day over fourteen.”  
  
“Oh no, it’s twenty-five I am, married with a car three kids, ten kids if you count the wife’s.” He continued blithely.

I shook my head, this was getting ridiculous.

So I instead decided to try something different.

“What can you tell me about the castle, Maguire?”

“What do you want to know?” He replied.

“Well, can I get inside?” I asked.

Maguire shook his head. “No, it’s all locked up.”  
  
“Does anyone live there?”

“No.” He replied, a little too quickly. As if realizing that, he hesitated. “Only...”

“What?” I asked.

“Oh nothing.”

That made me suspicious.

Narrowing my eyes I spoke up. “You know something about the castle you’re not telling, don’t you.”

“No.”  
  
“What is it your covering up?” I demanded. “Is it something you’re scared of?”

“I ain’t scared of nothing.” He shot back.

“I’ll give you one last chance to tell me about the castle.” I said firmly.

“Oh yeah, what if I don’t?” He challenged petulantly.

I shook my head. “Then I’m taking you back to school.”  
  
“Oh...” He hesitated and then explained. “There’s a ghost. It’s called, The Phantom of Lochmarne.”

I suddenly remembered what Old Ron had said; I was still sceptical. “You’re not telling me you believe in ghosts, are you?”

“Mister, I’ve seen it with my very own eyes.” He shot back.

I sighed, figuring I better get to the bottom of this.

Before I could Maguire continued to explain.

“Last Tuesday night, I went up to see what that dig was all about, I just reached the top of the wall, when I hears this awful noise.”

“What, sort of noise?” I asked cautiously.

“A horrible snuffling and snorting.” Maguire clarified. “Like O’Brien’s pig, only worse. It was coming from inside the castle.”  
  
I had to admit, this was troubling. “Did you find out what was making the noise in the castle?”  
  
“No fear, I just sat on the wall like Humpty Dumpty.” Maguire quipped. “The moon was cracked and greasy like an old dinner plate, the yard was full of shadows that could’ve been hiding anything. I woulda gone home, but me legs had lost their stuffin’.”

“Did you get to see the ghost?” I asked cautiously.

“Indeed I did and a fearsome sight it is too.” Maguire remarked. “I sat on me arse, waited until the moon went down, then out it comes from the shadows. All grey and tattered and hunched over like an old bent willow, then I hears this spluttering and splashing and a horrible laughter in the dark. I was so scared, why, I fell off the bloody wall.”  
  
That caught my attention at once, I suddenly recalled Old Ron’s story and put two and two together.

I tried to explain that. “I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for what you saw in the castle.”  
  
“There is, the bloody place is haunted.” Maguire insisted.

I shook my head, so much for telling him, but I could hopefully tell Ron at least.

I decided it was time to ask something different.

“Do you know a Professor Peagram?”

“Can you describe him like in the cop shows on the telly?” Maguire replied.

I nodded slowly and obliged. “He’s an English Archaeologist.”

“I know the man you mean if he’s the one.” Maguire said quickly.

Asking what I felt was the most pertinent question, I spoke. “Can you tell me where I can find Peagram?”

“No I can’t ‘cause he’s not here now. But if I see him, I’ll ask him.”

Shaking my head at that I then asked. “Do you know what Peagram was doing in the castle?”

“Digging for buried treasure.” Was Maguire’s reply. “Jewels and gold and skeletons, like in the films.”

“Do you know anything about Peagram’s dig?” I then asked.

“He wouldn’t let me anywhere near it, I offered to help but he chased me off.” Maguire told me, before snorting. “I didn’t wanna see his smelly old hole anyhow.”

I sighed and shook my head, before considering.

“Is it true Peagram found a valuable gem?” I queried.

Maguire brightened at once. “That’s right, it’s been the talk of Lochmarne for days.”

So, Peagram had found the gem that went with the tripod, now I really needed to find him, or at the very least, the gem.

Finally, I decided to ask one last question.

“Did anyone from the village work at the dig?”

“Peagram brought some students and bums with him, he reckoned no one in Lochmarne would know what to look for.” Maguire replied, before revealing. “The only local guy who worked for him was Sean Fitzgerald.”

That caught my attention at once. “Fitzgerald tells me he’s never been anywhere near the dig.”  
  
“He’s having you on Mister.” Maguire insisted.

“You’re sure you saw him?”  
  
“Oh yes, they were only together last night.” Maguire remarked. “Peagram gave Fitzy a package, didn’t look too happy about it.”

“Wish you’d told me that sooner.” I replied, suddenly having a strong suspicion what was in the box. “How can I get him to part with it.”  
  
“Break his fingers.” Maguire suggested.

“I couldn’t do that.” I replied. “I need a more subtle approach.”  
  
“Chinese burns?”

Still smiling I thanked Maguire for his help and said farewell before heading back into the bar, things had just taken a rather interesting turn.

Stepping into the bar I thought for a moment, I couldn’t just accuse Fitzgerald without further proof, I needed to talk to the only other two people I knew had been present at the castle the night of the dig, besides, I had something to reveal to one of them, regarding the alleged ghost. So I approached Old Ron first.

“Excuse me.”

He sneezed twice before glaring up at me and growling. “What?”  
  
“I think I know what you saw on the castle wall.” I said knowingly.

“I know what I saw.” He insisted.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, it was the kid, Maguire.”

“What?” He barked in shock.

“He was up on the wall last Tuesday night.” I explained; pausing while Ron sneezed again. “He thought you were the Phantom of Lochmarne.”

Ron paused for a moment, taking this in before realizing the truth at last. “Oh.”

I nodded, it was a simple case of mistaken identity, now for the other reason I was here.

“Did you see Sean Fitzgerald at the dig?”

Ron suddenly clammed up. “Never heard of him.”

I shook my head. “Please, I need to know if you saw him and Peagram...”

“Never heard of either of them.” He insisted.

“Don’t you come from around here?” I queried.

“None of your business.” He snapped. “I don’t ask where you come from.”

I shrugged and replied helpfully. “I’m from California.”  
  
“That’s your problem.” He shot back.

I said farewell and turned away and I sighed, so much for that.

With that I made my way to my only other witness, Patrick Doyle.

“Hey.” I said, as I approached, trying to get his attention.

He turned to me and grinned. “Hello dere again mister.”

“Say, do you remember seeing Sean Fitzgerald at the dig?” I asked.

For once Doyle’s vacant look disappeared, instead he looked thoughtful. “Hmmm...let me see...Think me brainbox needs a spot of lubrication.”  
  
I almost wanted to laugh at that, but duly obliged. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“You most certainly can.”  
  
I turned to Leary. “Give me a drink for my friend here.”

“Who, Doyle?” He remarked. “Has he conned you into buying for him, shame on you Patrick. Same again?”  
  
“Just a pint this time Michael.” Doyle replied.

With that Leary poured the pint and gave it to him, Doyle drank and let out a satisfied sigh.

“Do you remember Sean Fitzgerald now?” I asked.

I can picture the scene as if it was only last week.” Doyle said. “Come to think of it, it was only last week. Fitzgerald was there last night, him and a bunch of students. But he was the only one I saw talking with the boss man.”  
  
I nodded slowly, this was coming together, there was certainly enough corroborating evidence now. It was time for me to confront Sean Fitzgerald.

I approached Sean’s table and moved around until I stood in front of it, facing him. He looked up and noticed me.

“Hello.”  
  
Now that it had been mentioned to me, I noticed the package was indeed sitting on the table, in addition to his usual nervous habits he also kept grabbing at it, as if afraid to lose it.

“Maguire tells me he saw you at the dig, what’s more, he saw you talking to Peagram.” I remarked. “You lied to me, you said you’d never been anywhere near it.”

“You don’t honestly believe...” Sean began nervously.

I then added. “Doyle also saw you at the dig, he’s seen you there, you might as well admit it.”

“I knew this would happen, I knew I’d get caught.” He groaned. “Just my luck, grassed up by a delinquent and a dimwit.”  
  
I shook my head. “I need to talk to Peagram, if he’s still alive.”  
  
Sean panicked at that. “What do you mean, is he in danger?”

“Yeah, you too if I’m right.”  
  
“You’re not from the social security?” He asked suddenly.

“Hell no?” I replied. “Why would you think that?”

He grimaced and then explained. “Well, I was claiming benefits at the same time I was working for Peagram.”  
  
“I’m not in a position to make judgement Sean, that’s between you and your conscience.” I told him. “All I want to do is talk to Peagram about the gem.”

“But he’s not here!”  
  
“I know that, but he left that...package with you, didn’t he?” I replied.

Instantly Sean’s hand shot out and grabbed the package, he was panicked.

I decided to turn up the pressure a bit.

“Where did Peagram go?”

“I don’t know, I swear it. He came to see me, early this morning, said he was leaving.” Sean replied hurriedly. “He asked me to give this package to a man named Marquet.”  
  
I looked at it carefully before making up my mind. “Show what’s in the package Sean.”

“I-I can’t do that?”  
  
“Why not?”

He shook his head. “I promised the Professor.”  
  
“So what?” I replied flippantly. “You didn’t have any qualms about your benefit scam, so where’s the harm in taking a look inside Peagram’s package?”

But if anything, that made him even more afraid. “You don’t know these people, I can’t, I don’t dare.”

I sighed, this was getting nowhere fast, I needed to come down hard.

“This is your last chance to show me the package Sean, I’ve been patient with you, but now it’s time to kick ass.” I warned him.

“But he’ll kill me!” Sean cried.

“Who will.”

“The man from Paris, Jacques Marquet.” He elaborated. “Peagram told me, if I gave him the package, unopened, I’d hear no more about it. But if double-crossed Marquet, I’d be dead.”

Well this was getting interesting, someone else involved in whatever was going on, a man named Jacques Marquet and he was back in Paris, something to do when I got back.

Still, I needed to be firm. “I’ll deal with Jacques Marquet...give the package to me.”

But with that he suddenly stood up, grabbing it. “No, why should I trust you, I don’t know who to trust anymore!”  
  
By now the whole bar was watching us.

“I wish I’d never even heard of the Lochmarne Gem.”

With that he tore out of the pub and we all watched in shock, especially as we then heard a horrible screeching noise, a pause, then another before the door burst open and Maguire was there.

“Hey, I just seen a big red...”  
  
“Get out of here Maguire, come back when you’re old enough.” Leary yelled.

Maguire shook his head. “A big red sports car, Sean Fitzgerald’s been run over!”  
  
“GET OUT!” Leary bellowed, making Maguire leave. “Noisy little tyke.”  
  
With that they began chatting, I was still shocked, both by Sean’s sudden exit and their lack of regard for him. Shaking my head I turned and hurried out of the bar, determined to find out what happened.

Exiting the bar I found Maguire waiting, in a very agitated state.

“I was telling the truth about Fitzy, Mister.” He burst out the moment he saw me.

I tried to calm him. “Okay, okay, just tell me what happened.”  
  
“I was standing here, minding me own, when I saw this beautiful red sports car come up over the hill there.” He explained, pointing to the top of the hill that I had come down on the bus earlier. “Would you look at that, says I, I move over to take a closer look.”  
  
He even demonstrated, showing me exactly where he stood, just in front of the pub door and even indicating that the car, sounding like a Ferrari from Maguire’s description, had been idling at the top of the hill, as if waiting for something.

Maguire then revealed what happened. “Next thing, Fitzy comes tearing out the pub, and nearly knocks me on me arse. Well the car just flies at him, it was too fast for poor old Fitzy, it hits him an awful wallop and he goes flying up on top. Jesus says I, I thought he was a goner.”

I couldn’t deny I was startled, the car had been waiting for Fitzgerald, had deliberately run him over.

“Next thing, the driver gets out and I couldn’t believe me eyes.” Maguire continued; before revealing a very startling piece of news. “He was dressed like a bloody pixie.”

I froze hearing that, a pixie, or leprechaun to use it’s other name. That was the other costume Khan had bought in Paris, it had to be him.

Thinking for a moment I asked.

“Maguire, did Fitzgerald drop anything when he was hit?”

Maguire shook his head. “I didn’t see, it happened so fast.”

I sighed. “The package must have fallen out of sight...did this pixie have a scar on his cheek?”

“I didn’t see, he was wearing a stupid mask.” Maguire replied, before looking excited. “Are you a Special Agent?”

I sighed. “Sorry to disappoint you kid, but I’m not.”

Maguire resumed his usual place by the pub entrance and I surveyed the damage of the area where Fitzgerald had been run over. The only sign that something had happened was that a featureless plastic box on the outside of the bar had it’s cover smashed off, revealing a switch. I looked down at the grated trapdoor beneath my feet; suddenly I realized what it was, the cellar of the pub, a very likely place for the package to have fallen down. I needed some way to get down there, I had seen the doorway down behind the bar, I needed something to convince Leary to let me behind the bar. I couldn’t deny, I was still worried, it seemed that, after running him over, Khan had abducted Sean, but I needed to continue with my search, I had a nasty feeling that there was more going on than I was seeing and so I needed to hurry, until I could find the answers. Deciding I had nothing to lose, that it just might work, I flipped the switch in the box, only for it to break off as I did so, leaving it stuck in the ‘off’ position. With that I made my way back into the bar.

This was a gamble, but I had a suspicion as to what that switch was and just hoped this would work.

“Excuse me.” I said as I stopped in front of Leary.

He looked up. “Yes, sir?”  
  
“Could I have another beer please”?

“Certainly sir, same again?” He replied jovially; I nodded and he tried to pour the beer. “I’m sorry but the pump appears to be broken.”

It was as I thought, this could be my chance. “I could fix it for you.”

“I don’t think so, this is a job for a professional electrician.” He said before adding. “Ah well, at least the glasswasher is still working.”

Which was of course the cue for the glasswasher to short out.

Leary sighed. “It’s not my day, is it.”

Still, I wasn’t beaten yet; I was once again having to impersonate someone with another person’s ID.

“It just so happens, I’m an electrician, check out my credentials.” I said, holding out Khan’s fake Thomas Moerlin ID.

Leary observed it with a wry smile. “Well now, isn’t that marvellous. Here’s a house bedevilled with faulty wiring of a wayward nature, here’s you an electric man with a little plastic card to prove it.”

He paused and then sighed.

“Hmm, I want to see what you can do before I let you touch my beer pumps, you can make a start on the glasswasher, then after that, take a look at the pumps.”  
  
With that he went and raised the bar and moved to stand in front of the door, giving me free access to the area behind the bar.

First however, I had to try and fix the glasswasher and so I made my way around and went behind the bar, examining the glasswasher, it looked fine. I checked the plug, thinking it might be the wiring, but that too seemed fine. I thought for a moment, this felt wrong, and it was dangerous. But I was desperate enough to disregard standard safety precautions and so, making sure no one was looking, I replaced the fuse in the plug with the twisted piece of wire that Old Ron had been working on. It worked, the glasswasher immediately started working again.

“Excuse me, Mr. Leary, I’ve fixed your glasswasher no problem.” I called out to him.

Leary grinned. “Bingo, and a blessing to all the saints, a half-pint to that man, on the house.”

He then became serious. “Now, will you take a look at the beer pumps.”

“Well I’ll try, but I’m making no promises.” I replied.

Leary grimaced. “If you can’t fix them, I’ll have a riot on my hands.”

“The pumps are in the cellar right?”

“That’s right.” Leary confirmed. “You’ll find a flashlight down there somewhere.”

With that he made his way back to his usual place and I made my way to the door, heading down the stairs into the basement, Leary’s words should have warned me what to expect.

For I soon stopped at the foot of the stairs, in complete darkness.

‘ _What a dumb place to store a flashlight, a dark cellar.’_ I thought bitterly. _‘The only way I’m gonna find anything here is to feel around.’_

Grimacing and taking great care where I placed my feet, I did just that, feeling around for anything that could help me. My hands soon closed on a metal rod which I immediately pulled up until it stopped. There was a creaking metallic sound, then nothing happened. I sighed but thought for a moment and then an idea came to me. I slowly, cautiously, worked my way back out and back upstairs. Once back in the main room of the pub I headed back outside and then walked over to the trapdoor in the sidewalk and, with some small effort, I finally managed to open it, the smell from below confirmed it was the cellar of the pub. I looked down on a stone tiled floor, way too far to jump. I stood up and sighed, I’d finally got the trapdoor open and access to the cellar, so I could now hopefully see. Now I just needed to find what I could find down there. I was distracted at that moment by a tap at my shoulder and a raspy snake like voice.

“Excuse me.”  
  
I turned and froze, standing before was an Arabic looking man with short dark hair and eyes, clad in a purple suit and a crescent moon shaped scar on his left cheek.

There was a nasty feeling in my guts I usually associated with light opera, it was Khan.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Did you see what happened here a few minutes ago?” He asked.

I shook my head. “What was that?”

“A man was involved in an unfortunate accident.”

“I didn’t see anything.” I replied.

Khan narrowed his eyes. “What about the boy?”  
  
“He doesn’t know anything either.” I insisted quickly. “The kid, you know how it is in these rural communities, not enough genes to go around.”

I prayed Maguire had the sense to keep his mouth shut, thankfully he said nothing.

“Was the guy hurt bad?” I asked, hoping for any clue as to Fitzgerald’s condition.

Khan’s smile did not help. “He’s been taken care of, but he thinks he dropped a small parcel, you didn’t happen to find it, did you?”

“If I had, I would’ve taken it to the police.” I replied.

“Of course.” He said. “Thank you.”  
  
With that he turned and walked away, leaving me relieved and anxious. Yet also with a new determination, now I was sure the package Fitzgerald had dropped, it held the gem.


	10. A New Clue

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**A New Clue**

It was a mixture of excitement and dread that filled me as I made my way back into McDevitts pub. Dread as Khan’s words made it clear, something terrible had happened to Fitzgerald, but excitement as I was sure I could now find the gem, the next key to this whole mystery and maybe, if I could find the rest fast enough, I could stop things from getting worse. Back inside I made my way back over to the stairs leading down to the cellar and headed down, I smiled in relief to see my plan had worked. Opening the trap door had allowed daylight to enter the cellar, allowing me to see the dank worn looking room, an old wooden counter with a faucet next to it, boxes in vary states of decay, an old faded calendar and the beer pumps. But my eyes were drawn to the counter, upon which I spotted the flashlight Leary had mentioned. I picked it up and, checking it was working, pocketed it. Then I spotted something else and turned. Beneath the light for the open trapdoor, something sparkled. I approached and my eyes widened, it was the package Fitzgerald had been carrying, it had fallen down here and burst open. Sure enough, there it was inside, the gem everyone had been talking about. I lifted it up and gazed in wonder at the large uncut sparkling blue stone. I quickly pocketed it, coming to my sense, if anyone saw it, like Khan for instance, it could mean trouble.

Therefore I nearly jumped out my skin when Maguire shouted down from above.

“DID YOU FIND IT!?”

I looked up and saw him leaning over the trap door, looking down.  
“WHAT?!” I called back.

“WHATEVER YOU WAS LOOKING FOR!”

“UH YEAH, LISTEN, MAGUIRE, I NEED YOU TO KEEP THIS TO YOURSELF!” I replied.

He grinned. “NO PROBLEMO, JUST CHUCK US UP A CRATE OF LAGER!”

“NO WAY!” I refused. “YOU’RE NOT OLD ENOUGH!”

“WE COULD SELL IT AND MAKE SOME CASH!” He offered.

I shook my head. “FORGET IT KID, I COULDN’T BETRAY MR. LEARY’S TRUST!”

“I COULD, FOR SURE!” Maguire shot back. “THAT OLD MISERY GUTS DESERVES IT!”

I sighed. “IF YOU WANNA DO ME A FAVOUR, KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THAT GUY IN THE SUIT!”

“OKAY, BUT IT’LL COST YOU A PACKET OF CHIPS!” Was the answer Maguire gave before moving away.

I then suddenly remember. “OH AND SHOUT IF YOU SEE THAT FERRARI!”

With that I took a moment to calm down, I had the gem, but I didn’t yet know what to do with it. I also couldn’t leave Lochmarne until tomorrow. I decided to do the only thing I hadn’t done yet. It was time to explore the castle. So I quickly left the cellar and then the bar and made my way up the hill, towards the farmer and his cart.

I looked up at the castle, at it’s doors, and sighed, I wasn’t going to get in easy, in fact, the only way seemed to be to climb the crazily stacked tower of hay bales on the back of the cart. But it was obvious the farmer just wouldn’t let me do that, I needed to find some way to make him leave.

“Hi, it’s me again.” I said as I approached him.

He looked up from his book. “So I see, what now?”

Deciding on the only course I could see, I questioned him. “Did you see the red sports car that was here earlier?”

“I caught a glimpse of a flash of red on the hill and heard the racket.” He replied. “Sure it was an awful noise, a sports car you say?”

“A Ferrari to be exact.”

“A racing car?” He burst out, incredulous. “And what was it doing here, the poor fella must’ve been lost.”

I then explained. “The driver of the Ferrari was involved in an accident.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he ran someone down outside the bar.” I added.  
  
“What an idiot.” The farmer snarled. “How could a thing like that happen?”

“He was travelling too fast.”

“So fast he ran right under the car?” The farmer shot back.

I rolled my eyes. “I mean, the _car_ was travelling too fast.”

“But you’d have thought the idiot could’ve heard it coming.” The farmer remarked.

I honestly had not been expecting this sort of reaction.

Still, I pressed on.

“Maybe you know the guy who was hit by the car.” I said. “His name is Sean Fitzgerald.”

The farmer’s face darkened. “Oh I know him alright, that’s me nephew, the idiot responsible for the stacking of this hay cart. Was he killed by the car?”

“Oh no, but he has been abducted.” I replied quickly.

“Well, that’s a relief now.”

I was shocked by his levity.

“Aren’t you going to look for your nephew?” I asked.

“What for?” He replied. “From what you say it’s already too late.”

“Well, you could report the matter to the police?” I suggested.

He shrugged. “Better not, besides, what could they do?”

“Well, they could mount a search?”

“They’ve only the one bicycle between them.” He snarked. “In the question of superior acceleration, I’d put me money on the Ferrari.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, sighing I spoke. “I think you ought to know exactly what Sean has got himself into.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“But your his uncle.” I persisted. “His own flesh and blood.”

“You’re right, but what can I do? If I’m not here to guard it, some idiot will try and climb the haystack.” He replied. “What a moral dilemma, stay here and guard this potentially lethal agricultural construction, or to go off in search of the prodigal nephew, the very man responsible for said hazard. It’d need some thinking about.”

I had my way in it seemed.

I tried to make my pitch.

“Why, there’s no problem.”

But he responded too soon. “You’re right, why didn’t I think of it before, we’ll demolish the haystack.”

I couldn’t let that happen. “You don’t have to demolish the haystack to go look for Sean. I’ll stay here, in your place and warn anyone who is silly enough to climb it.”

“Marvellous. Well, I think I’ll start me inquiries at the bar.” The farmer replied.

With that he got up and store off towards McDevitts, now leaving me to contemplate the stack of hay. I knew I was taking a great risk, but after everything that had happened so far, it was just yet another in a long list. So I began to climb the crazily stacked tower of hay. Unfortunately when I reached the top I realized a problem, the stack of hay stopped short of the top of the wall. I couldn’t reach up, even stretching as far as I could. I needed something else. I looked at the pitted stone wall in front of me and saw a glimmer of hope. There was a crack in the wall, where the mortar had crumbled away, it went in a few inches deep. With a grin I knew exactly what I could use here. I pulled out the sewer key and shoved it in, it remained lodged there, forming a step. Using that I was then able to climb up through the crumbled section of the wall and into the castle. Once inside I began to make my way down to the courtyard, but stopped halfway down startled. As I noticed a new obstacle. A very mean looking, angry, white goat.

I slowly made my way down into the courtyard and stopped, I turned to face the goat which was standing by a large trough, it glared coolly at me, never taking it’s eyes off me. The only other features in the courtyard were a rusty old plough and a squarely dug hole with a ladder leading down into it, no doubt the site of Peagram’s dig and my next destination. Unfortunately I had some trouble, as I tried to approach the goat let out a bleat and rammed me to the ground. Rolling away I got up, grimacing.

‘ _Urgh, now I have to get past the goat, how on earth am I...’_ I thought to myself before I saw it. _‘Hmm, that could work...’_

A plan was forming in my mind, I just hoped it would be successful. So I stood and attempted to go to the hole again. The goat attacked once more and this time, as it was returning to it’s original place, I got up and ran to the other side. I pulled the plough across and leapt back. The goat had lunged at me again but now got it’s rope tangled up in the plough and couldn’t block me anymore. So, with a sigh of relief, I made my way to the ladder and climbed down.

The site of the dig was rather clean, although a few things stood out, a simple workbench on which a single brown paper sack had been left open, a small altar of sorts a large carved panel behind it. There was a statue on the wall, flanking it, but on the other side, the statue had fallen and now sat on the ground, leaving behind five holes in the wall, where it was supposed to go, they matched the five fingers of stone protruding from the back of the fallen statue. I sighed, there had to be something more to this place, but what. I approached the workbench and looked in the sack, inside was a fine white powder. I thought for a moment, what would this be doing here. Then suddenly, realizing struck me, this was an archaeological site. Dipping my fingers into the powder confirmed my thoughts, it was Plaster of Paris, for making casts. My gaze went back to the statue, I could try something here, but only if my concerns were valid, so I scooped up a handful of the plaster and made it safe in one of my jackets pockets before going and trying to lift the statue, but it was too heavy and fell over into the sand, I swung it back up and saw my back plan could indeed work, for it had left impressions of the stone fingers on the back and an indent in the soft sandy floor.

Certain now that my plan would work I took some of the plaster and sprinkled into until the holes and indent were filled, then I made sure it was smooth and level. Now I just needed water to harden the cast, unfortunately I knew only one way to get it. So with a heavy sigh I left the dig and began working my way back, all way back to McDevitts cellar. This was it, my only chance, I had to be quick and I had to do this right. So I turned on the faucet and grimaced as I watched it creak, cough and then spew out a stream of rusty coloured water. Unpleasant though it was, it was still water. So I took out the towel I had borrowed and held it under the water until it was soaked through. I now had to hurry before it dried and so I left the cellar and, without stopping for anything or anyone, I made my way back, as quickly as I could, ignoring the wet towel soaking the pocket it was stashed in, until I finally made it back to the dig and stood before the plaster filled area on the floor. I took the towel out and wrung it out, allowing the water that trickled out to soak the plaster cast, relieved I put the towel in another pocket and waited for both that section of my jacket and the plaster cast to dry.

It was with some relief that they finally did dry out and with great care I eased the solid plaster out of the sand, underneath it had formed a perfect copy of the statue back, complete with protruding fingers. I walked over to the holes in the wall and slid the cast into place. There was a soft thud and then, silence. Only a short while after that, the large panel I had seen slid away to reveal a flight of stone steps, heading down into darkness. I pulled out Leary’s flashlight, turned it on and approached them, beginning my descent. I was definitely following Peagram’s footsteps now and wondered if this was why he had disappeared.

‘ _Strange, something about this place seemed to have spooked him, he had to have found more than the gem...I wonder...’_

My thoughts stopped and I stared wide-eyed ahead of me. I was now at the bottom of the stairs, in a small chamber, with only one thing of interest. A large image on the wall, showing a hanged man and one word; Montfacon.


	11. Who Is Marquet?

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Who is Marquet?**

“Hello George.”

Nico’s greeting was cheerful as I entered her apartment the following day. I smiled lightly and sat down at the desk opposite her. My mind was still full of everything I encountered in Ireland.

“So, where did you stay last night?” Nico queried when I sat down.

I explained. “At McDevitts, I got to drinking with Doyle and a couple of the guys.”

“That explains why you look so ill today, did you get any sleep at all?”

“Not much.” I revealed. “I had to share the room with another guy.”

“Did he snore?” Nico asked.

“Hardly, he was dead.” I sighed and then added. “Then Leary woke me in the middle of the night to help bail out the cellar.”

Nico gasped. “The cellar was flooded?”

“Yeah, some idiot had left the faucet running.”

Nico paused for a moment before then asking. “And you say Peagram has disappeared?”

I sighed. “Without a trace, but my visit wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

With that I grinned and pulled out the gem, showing it to her.

“Peagram’s gem?”

“The Templars Gem.” I explained. “Whoever Jacques Marquet is, he’s in for a disappointment.”

“Jacques Marquet?” Nico queried.

I quickly detailed it. “He’s the guy who was supposed to collect the gem from Fitzgerald. Anyway, I need to find him, I also need to find out who, what or where Montfacon was, all I’ve got to go on is the name and an image of a hanged man.”

Nico pondered that for a while and, unable to think of anything, we both checked the manuscript again.

When I left Nico’s apartment later I considered my options. We had the gem, but apparently still needed the tripod, but that was in the Crune Museum and I didn’t see how we could get our hands on it without causing an incident. I also still needed to find and talk to this Andre Lobineau Nico had told me about, but she also suggested talking to Rosso, I figured that was a good idea, he might know who Marquet was. So, remembering the address from his card, I began to make my way to the police station. The police station entrance hall was large and had blue and white flooring, there were a few benches and notably a large desk with a wooden dividing wall, no doubt with an office inside. Standing at the desk filling out paperwork was a familiar face. I quickly approached.

“Sergeant Moue?”

He looked up and nodded. “Ah M’sieur Stobbart, n'est pas.”

“That’s correct, you remembered?” I replied, surprised.

“The retention of such data, is part of my duty as a gendarme.” Moue remarked with a sniff. “That is how crime is fought, with attention to detail, not...intuition.”  
  
“Yeah sure.” I said before realizing something I could do here and hope for the best. “I’d like to report and assault.”  
  
“Oui M’sieur, where is the victim?” Moue asked as he pulled another form out from under the desk.”  
  
“I’m the victim.” I said indignant. “I’ve been harassed by a pair of thugs.”

Moue filled in the form. “I see, and where did this alleged assault take place?”

“Outside the hotel Ubu, they stopped me as I was leaving and went through my pockets.”

“Can you describe the suspects, M’sieur?” Moue asked as he filled in more details.

I sighed, this was gonna be difficult to believe. “One looked like a gorilla and the other a weasel, their names are Flap and Guido.”

That had an immediate effect.

Moue immediately tensed and he looked up, eyes burning with anger.

“Bon...I will get them this time.” He declared.

Taken aback I asked. “What are you going to do to Flap and Guido, Sergeant?”  
  
“I’m going to bust them, M’sieur.” Moue declared. “For years I’ve been hoping to pin something on that pair, now is my chance, I’ll show them, and the inspector.”  
  
I smiled, relieved that I was being taken seriously. I now had the actual reason I came here to address too.

“Do you know a man called...Jacques Marquet?”

“Yes, he used to be known as the Mole of Montmartre.” Moue replied. “I believe he has been hospitalized, presumable by one of his rivals.”

That surprised me, Fitzgerald was scared of this guy and yet he was in hospital. “What hospital was Marquet taken too?”  
  
“The Hagenmeyer Clinic, the Avenue de Herrissons.”

I thought for a moment and decided, since I was here, I might as well talk to him, if he was available.

“Is Rosso here?” I asked.

Moue nodded. “Yes, he is, you wish to speak to him?”

“Yes I do.”  
  
With that Moue walked into the office and came out later, with Rosso following and stopping by the desk. He had removed his trench coat but otherwise was exactly as I remembered him.

I smiled politely.

“Hi Inspector, remember me?”

He nodded. “But of course M’sieur Stobbart, my mind is a well ordered faculty. A mental classification system that is the envy of the bibliotheque nationale.”  
  
He paused before adding.

“No tricks mark you, just exercise.” He smiled. “Just as our muscles waste through inactivity, so do our minds decay, but there is no need. If people would only learnt to exercise their wits daily.”

If he was trying to impress me it worked, he was pompous and patronizing, but he had style.

But then he startled me. “Eh Bien, if you have called about the bombing, you are too late. Investigations have been closed, I’ve been taken off the case.”  
  
“But, what about the murderer, the dead guy?” I blurted out.

“It is out of my hands.” Rosso remarked.

I narrowed my eyes, recalling Nico’s words. The police were indeed covering up these murders, I could tell Rosso wouldn’t even speak of the subject. Thankfully I had other things to ask him about, people for instance.

“Do you know a pair called, Flap and Guido?” I asked.

Rosso nodded calmly. “I have known those two since they graduated from special school, Flap is a nasty piece of work, but Guido is the real brains of the partnership.”  
  
I nodded, that was certainly the impression I got of them.

“Where did you hear of them?” Rosso queried.

“I met them outside the hotel Ubu.” I explained quickly.

I considered who to ask about next.

Making up my mind I asked my next question.

“Do you know a Professor Peagram?”

“Molly Peagram, the second son of Lord Barclay Peagram?” Rosso asked, sounding incredulous.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, I only read about him in a magazine.”  
  
“So much for the efficacy of rehabilitation.” Rosso sighed. “What has he done this time?”  
  
“He made and important archaeological find in Ireland.” I replied, surprised at how many people Rosso seemed to know. “Do you know Peagram well, is his name really, Molly?”  
  
“I have connections with the family, but I wouldn’t say I knew him at all.” Rosso told me. “And no, of course not, Molly was the nickname he was given at school, all his close friends and acquaintances call him Molly.”  
  
Now it was time for the next person. “Do you know a guy called Jacques Marquet.”  
  
“Why yes, he has a record for arson, burglary, assault and art theft.”

“An all-rounder huh, how come he’s still loose?” I couldn’t help but wonder.

Rosso replied calmly. “His bravado is matched only by the courtroom skills of of his attorney.”

Ah, well, that explained that. Thinking hard I could see only one other question to ask Rosso.

“Do you know...the Knights Templar?”  
  
“Les Templiers. Yes M’sieur.” Rosso replied, his voice changing. “We haven’t forgotten them, unlike the rest of Europe.”  
  
That caught my attention. “It was the king of France who persecuted them, right?”  
“Indeed.”  
  
That shook his cool, under his cultured facade, the man was real twitchy.

I wasn’t sure if I should push it but I couldn’t help myself.

“You’re obviously a huge admirer of the Templars.” I said.

He seemed to be struggling to control himself. “They were great men, the true embodiment of honour and chivalry.”

“Not everyone would share your views, Inspector...”

“Not everyone shares my love of Baroque Opera.” Rosso replied glibly.

I shook my head. “But if the Templars were as honourable as you say.”  
  
“That’s enough.” He snapped suddenly. “I will not stay and listen to your uninformed opinions, Stobbart.”

“Why do you get so worked up about the Templars, they’ve been dead for centuries?” I asked.

But I shouldn’t have pushed my luck. Maybe his ancestors were Templars, whatever the reason, I saw the anger flare in his eyes like a distant summer storm.

“The Templars were the first true internationalists! Six hundred years on and still the world is fragmented by nationalistic flag waving fools!” Rosso thundered. “You will excuse me.”

With that he turned and stalked back into the office. Moue kept working on his paperwork and didn’t look up. Feeling awkward I left the police station, deciding to head straight for the Hagenmeyer Clinic to find Jacques Marquet, but I couldn’t get that encounter out of my mind.

I found himself at an old looking building, with some newer additions. It looked distinctly out of place and, to my eyes, only the signs on either side of the gateway, and the ambulance out front identified it as a hospital. I entered and was even more perplexed by all the plants inside. There were three people in the lobby. Two were male and walking around the reception hall; both in trousers, shirts with ties and doctors coats. The first was elderly, with spare white hair around the sides of his head, thick eyebrows, a moustache and dark eyes that projected a withering stare. The other man was young, with short blonde hair, blue eyes behind glasses and had a look of fresh-faced enthusiasm, I guessed he was just out of college. The last person was a brown haired, brown eyed woman with a red dress under her white coat, she was seated behind the reception desk and managed to look overworked and hassled, even though she didn’t appear to be doing anything. Deciding to get some answers I approached the desk.

“Excuse me.”  
  
“Yes sir?” The woman replied as she turned to face me. “How may I help you?”

“Is this the Hagenmeyer Clinic?” I asked.

“That’s correct.”  
  
I sighed relieved. “I thought I was in a garden centre.”  
  
“Oh the plants, they were my idea.” She said. “A little greenery to evoke the spirit of nature. Anyway, how may I help you?”  
  
I smiled, considering carefully how to approach this.

Finally I asked.

“I’m here to see a man called Jacques Marquet?”

She nodded. “Yes we do, are you related to the patient sir?”

“Oh no, I’m conducting a private investigation.” I explained.

She sighed. “Then I can’t help you.”

I sighed and tried to press the subject a little. “So do I get to see Marquet before or after the funeral?”  
  
“That attitude will get you nowhere.” The woman remarked sharply. “My instructions were clear, no one gets to see Marquet, so unless you can prove you are a relation or acquaintance of our patient, you are wasting your time here.”  
  
Shaking my head I began patting down my pockets, searching for anything. While doing so I accidentally dropped the Thomas Moerlin ID pass. I went to pick it up, but the receptionist saw it and her eyes widened.

“Ah so you’re Moerlin.” She said. “Marquet’s been asking for you?”  
  
“For me?” I gasped, playing along.

“Yes he was shouting your name when they brought him in here.” She remarked before turning to her computer. “Okay let’s see, he was on ward B-12 as I recall...oh he’s been transferred to...oh dear. He’s on ward J-2, that’s...Nurse Grendal’s ward.”  
  
The look on her face and her words surprised and worried me.

“What’s so bad about Nurse Grendal?”

“She runs that ward like a South American Prison.” The woman remarked.

I blinked. “Keeping a well disciplined ward isn’t a crime is it?”

“Well disciplined, in the discipline and punishment stakes she’d whip the butt off the Marquis de Sade.” She snapped.

I was even more taken aback and nervous by this.

But I had no choice, I needed to see Marquet. So I asked for directions and began to head that way, along the way I met an odd looking white haired man with a large polishing machine, which explained the hellish noise I had been hearing in the corridors. Unfortunately I faced an obstacle, Marquet wasn’t receiving visitors.

‘ _Hmmm, what I need is to disguise myself somehow, something simple really...if I could...’_ I thought.

I was back in the corridor where the janitor was and soon I saw my chance, there was an unmarked closet next to him which he claimed to be responsible for. I needed to check it, hopefully it would give me what I wanted and luckily I had just the means to distract the janitor. I simply unplugged his polishing machine, Mr. Shiny he called it, and while he went to fix things, taking the long way around, I checked the closet and smiled. Inside was a doctors coat, I quickly pulled it on and had an instant disguise. Deciding it would be less suspicious if I wasn’t alone I returned to the lobby and approached the elderly man.

“Excuse me sir?”

“Ah, you must be the new boy.” The man said with a grin.

“Uh yeah.” I replied. “I must be.”  
  
He nodded. “Well, stop running about and make yourself useful, Bunny, come here boy.”  
  
With that the younger doctor approached.

“This is Benoir, my nephew.” The elderly man explained. “He is fresh out of medical school and I want you to look after him. Show him around, let him see some real suffering, open his eyes to what a real doctor can do.”

I noted the man’s name tag, Felix Hagenmeyer, the hospital was named after this guy, so clearly this guy owned the hospital.

I accepted his offer and began to make my way back to ward J-2, now was my chance, hopefully I could find Marquet and get some answers at last.


	12. Desperate Gamble

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Desperate Gamble**

Entering Ward J-2 with Benoir I walked up to the nurse on duty, I guessed this was the Nurse Grendel I had been warned about. Contrary to the monstrous woman that I was expecting from what the receptionist, Nurse Grendel was a beautiful dark skinned slender woman with neat black hair tied back and brown eyes. She took note of me as I approached and instantly spoke up.

“Good afternoon, Docteur.” She greeted me.

“Oh hi.” I replied. “Is this Ward J-2?”

“Yes sir. The patients are ready for inspection.” She explained. “You’ll need this Docteur.”  
  
With that she turned and picked up a long metal box which she handed to me with a stunning smile.

“Thanks.” I replied, a little awed. “So, who’s first?”

“M’sieur Croquet in bed 2, he’s been complaining of loss of consciousness.” She told me. “After that could you speak to the patient in bed number 3, Eric Sopmarsh.”

I nodded and turned around to look at the three beds and the patients within those beds. I couldn’t help but note that the man in the second bed, M’sieur Croquet, definitely looked sick. He was a short grey haired brown eyed man and lay on the bed, his face as grey as the pillow beneath his head.

‘ _Maybe I should ask the nurse if we should check him for breathing...’_ I wondered before I turned my head to the man in bed 1. _‘What the hell...okay, I’m not a professional...but that guy looks dead to me.’_

with a shudder I turned to the last bed.

I was confused by this man, apparently Eric Sopmarsh. He was a slightly heavyset older man with no hair on top of his head, although the hair around the sides and back of his head was grey, as were his eyes. Strangely, he didn’t look sick, he didn’t have spots, stitches and certainly didn’t have a fever. It made me wonder what was ailing him. I had to maintain my cover and so I did the rounds as best I could, no easy task. I soon learned however that Marquet was indeed here, around the corner in a private room. But It wasn’t easy getting there since Eric Sopmarsh proved to be a difficult man who was anxious to have his blood pressure taken. The long metal box I had been given turned out to be a pressure gauge. I used it as best I could, it seemed to work fine and everything seemed normal, but he refused to accept that, saying I wasn’t doing things properly. So I had to find some way to distract him.

‘ _Hmm, I wonder, it could work...’_ I thought to myself before turning to my ‘colleague’. “Hey Benoir.”  
  
He started. “Yes sir?”  
  
He may be a trainee and this might be his first day on the job but he had more training than I did.

“Here, take this pressure gauge.” I said. “Let’s give you some practice using it in a hospital environment, use it on Eric Sopmarsh, the man in bed number 3.”  
  
Benoir took the gauge and nodded. “Right.”  
  
I watched as he walked over and got to work, with my way open I made my way over towards the private room, noting curiously a police officer seated outside the room. Then I remembered that Marquet was a known criminal and that it was suspected by Moue that he had been put in the hospital by a rival. I was beginning to suspect however, given that he he had been shouting the name Moerlin when brought in that it was Khan who had attacked him, yet he had somehow survived. Anyway, regardless it was clear that likely that was the reason for the police officer sitting outside the room.

Approaching the door the officer looked up.

“I wouldn’t go in there doc, I’ve heard the gentleman in there has anthrax.” He remarked.

I shook my head; it was clearly nonsense, but I still had to keep up my act. “I have to check my patient, routine, make sure he’s still breathing.”

“What if he’s not?”  
  
“Well, I’ll sign the death certificate and register the bed as vacant.” I quipped.

The officer shook his head. “That’s a rather cold attitude to take to death.”  
  
I smiled. “Well, I’ve been institutionalized to the point of godlike aloofness.”

“The white coat suits you.” The officer said, before shrugging. “Rather you than me doc.”

With that I opened the door and entered the private room, almost at once hearing the beep of a heart monitor. There was a curtain that covered the left side of the bed, from the patient’s point of view, and the bottom of it, hiding the occupant from view. I walked closer to the curtain and stepped around it to see the occupant in the bed and froze. Lying in the bed was a tall, tan skinned grey haired man with blue eyes, one of them heavily bruised, he also had several injuries and seemed in bad shape. It was hard to believe this was the man Sean Fitzgerald had been so scared of, yet looking at him I guessed when he wasn’t badly beaten and such, he’d be a formidable man and not someone to cross.

Approaching warily I saw him go completely tense as his eyes focused on me.

“Marquet?” I asked in concern.

His voice was croaky and harsh. “Yes, I’m Marquet, I’ve been expecting you.”  
  
“You have?”  
  
“Well, what are you waiting for?” He wheezed. “Get it over with.”

Confused I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I just want to know what to do with the gem?”  
  
Marquet paused. “The Lochmarne gem?”  
  
“Yeah, right here in my pocket.”  
  
“Oh, I thought you were one of the...Hashshashin-” He barely got the last word out as he broke into a harsh, racking, coughing fit.

“Not me I replied, not daring to inhale until he stopped coughing.

Finally he calmed down and spoke again.

“So, you were sent in my place?”

“Yeah.” I replied, playing along. “You could hardly make the trip to Ireland in your condition. What should I do with the gem?

“Deliver it, to the Grand Master, quickly.” Marquet gasped before revealing. “Also tell him, I have found the tripod, right here in Paris.”  
  
“What you have it?” I gasped, remembering seeing said tripod in the Crune Museum.

Marquet shook his head weakly. “Not yet, but it’s been taken care of. I’ve hired a couple of stooges, with a flair for petty crime.”

“Would that be Flap and Guido by any chance?” I asked warily.

“You know them?”

“We’ve met.” I confirmed.

Now that certainly surprised me, based on all this, Khan was against Marquet and this Grand Master guy and from the sounds of it, Plantard and maybe even Peagram were in cahoots with this Grand Master too. I had assumed Flap and Guido were Khan’s accomplices, but now it sounded like they worked for this Grand Master too.

But it turned out Marquet wasn’t done.

“As for Klausner, he has gone to Syria, on a wild goose chase.”

I couldn’t help myself. “They have geese in Syria?”  
  
“He has a theory about the location of the-” Marquet tried to explain but trailed off with a wheezy groan at the end.

“That’s enough excitement for one day, M’sieur Marquet.”  
  
I started and got to my feet, turning to see another doctor standing there. Roughly the same height as me, mostly bald with grey hair around the sides and back of his head. He also had wide staring dead looking blue eyes, as well as thick grey moustache.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded.

“Talking to this patient of course.” I replied.

He glared. “M’sieur Marquet is my patient. If Herr Hagenmeyer was to hear that-”  
  
“Okay I’m going.” I protested, reflecting. _‘I’d learned all I could from Marquet anyhow.’_

I stood up and left the room, closing it behind me as I then heard Benoir calling.

“Ah there you are sir, I was coming to look for you.” He said, walking towards me. “I’ve finished with your pressure gauge.”

He handed it back to me and I secured it in my pocket.

“Thanks.” I began to reply.

But then suddenly we heard a loud beeping noise from inside the room.

Benoir reacted at once.

“What’s that noise, it sounds like someone’s having a cardiac arrest.”

It was coming from Marquet’s room.

I tried to calm things down. “It’s alright, the doctor is in their with him.”

“Are you sure he was a docteur?” Benoir asked worriedly as the noise continued.

“Qui m’seiur.” The officer spoke up. “He showed me his ID, it was Docteur Braille.”

Benoir narrowed his eyes. “There’s no Docteur Braille working here.”  
  
That was when the horrific truth dawned upon me as the heart rate monitor continued to beep erratically.

“He’s an imposter!” I cried, trying to hurry inside, but hit an obstacle. “The door’s locked, helped me officer!”

The officer leapt to his feet. “Stand back, m’seiur!”

I did so and he quickly shot the lock out, opening the door, as the machine flat-lined and we rushed inside. But it was too late, Marquet lay in his bed, dead and the imposter had escaped out the open window.

XXXXX

Back in Nico’s apartment I had been filling her in on my adventures so far.

“I found Jacques Marquet.” I told her.

She looked up hopefully. “Did he talk?”  
  
“Yeah he talked.” I sighed. “For the very last time.”

She gasped. “He’s dead?”  
  
I nodded sadly. “Yeah, killed in cold blood by a bogus doctor.”  
  
“That’s despicable, what kind of person would pass himself off as a doctor and take advantage of a dying man.” Nico remarked. “Was it Khan?”  
  
I shook my head. “No, I don’t know who he was, but it certainly wasn’t Khan. Do you think he was responsible for killing Marquet though?”

“I don’t think so.” Nico reasoned. “He could have finished him off the first time, besides Marquet would have recognized him.”

“He was pumped to the gills with sedatives. He wouldn’t have recognized the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse unless they introduced themselves.” I countered.

We both went quiet for a while, musing on what else we could say or do.

I then remembered something. “Have you ever heard of the Hashshashin?”

“No?”

“Marquet said they were his biggest enemy.” I explained.

“His biggest enemy was the bogus doctor.” Nico replied dryly.

I shuddered. “Don’t remind me, that guy was evil, he had wild staring eyes like a dead fish. I’ll never trust a doctor again.”  
  
We thought for a moment.

With nothing else coming to mind I stood up.

“Well, I better get going.”

“Okay, don’t forget to look for Lobineau at the Crune Museum.” Nico said.

I nodded. “Alright, anything else I can do for you while I’m out, shopping, a trip to the laundromat?”  
  
She smirked. “Just take care of yourself.”

Smiling I left the apartment and made my way towards the Crune Museum again. I wasn’t just coming to look for Lobineau, I had to do something about the upcoming heist that Flap and Guido were planning, to grab to tripod. It didn’t help that I also needed that tripod, there had to be some way to deal with this. Entering the museum I was stopped almost at once by the guard.

“You have left it very late M’sieur.” He said sharply.

“Late for what?”

“Anything.” He replied. “I am closing the museum soon. You don’t want to be locked in, not in this gallery. It is haunted M’sieur.”

I rolled my eyes at that, but now things had got a lot more complicated. I noted someone else in the museum, a thin faced pallid guy with a questionable taste in outlandish clothes, similar to how my mother used to dress, he had blonde hair in a ponytail and brown eyes. I hoped this was the guy I was seeking.

So I approached him and asked cautiously.

“I beg your pardon, are you Andre Lobineau?”

He straightened up and turned to me. “That’s me, you want my autograph?”  
  
“No.” I replied firmly; a little startled. “I was told you could help me.”

“Help?”

I explained. “My name is George Stobbart, I’d like your professional opinion.”  
  
“Well, okay, shoot.” Andre replied.

I cleared my throat and explained.

“I’d like your opinion on a medieval manuscript.” I told him.

“Vraiment, you have it with you?” Andre queried.

I shook my head. “No, it’s too fragile and besides, there’s certain people who’ll stop at nothing to get their hands on it.”

“Intriguing.” Andre mused. “You have a copy of the text?”

“There isn’t much, only a few Latin phrases.” I admitted. “I was kinda hoping you could help decipher the pictures.”

“Without seeing the manuscript, that’s a tall order.”

I then asked. “Just tell me one thing, what does the image of two knights on the same horse mean to you.”

“The Knights Templar.” Andre replied at once, eyes lighting up. “Does the Templar seal appear on the manuscript, I’d like to see if for myself.”

I then explained. “The manuscript is being looked after by a friend.”

“In Paris?” He asked.

“Yeah, not far from here in fact.”  
  
He nodded. “Well, give me the address and I’ll head around.”  
  
“I’m not sure.” I said warily. “Maybe I better check with her first.”  
  
“A female friend?” Andre said, his tone changing.

Maybe it was my imagination, but there seemed to be a predatory gleam in his eye, suddenly this friendly historian had become the big bad wolf.

Trying to push it aside I explained.

“This fiend who has the manuscript.”

“Ah oui.” Andre replied. “The anonymous girlfriend.”  
  
“She lives at three-six-one, Rue Jarry.” I told him.

Andre grinned. “Ah, I know it well, I’ll drop by, as soon as I can.”

Relieved I got that out of the way I began to ask Andre about a few topics, he was a historian who could give me some answers. I asked about the Templars, Philip IV of France, the king who had destroyed the Templars but was unable to get what he wanted from them, their enormous wealth and treasure, The Hashshashin who turned out to be the Cult of the Assassin’s, formed around the same time as the Templars. He was also able to tell me about Montfacon, apparently it was the location where the Templars had been executed, the site of it was located near the Canal St. Martin. I also spoke to him about Peagram, learning that he was in fact in Paris at the same time as the two men killed by Khan before, the second week of July. Now I was sure he, those two men, Plantard and Marquet were all part of the same group. Despite my attempts at warnings it was clear neither Andre or the guard believed the Tripod would be stolen. I had no choice but to thwart the robbery myself. So, using the window as a distraction device, as the guard reprimanded me for opening it. So I did so when his back was turned and while he went and closed it, I took advantage and hid myself in the sarcophagus in the corner of the main room. I just needed to wait now for things to unfold.

It was certainly hours, certainly dark outside, when finally I heard the loud crash and the sound of footsteps. I slowly, carefully, opened the sarcophagus, peeking out and sure enough there they were, Flap and Guido. Guido already by the tripod’s display case, Flap by the door fooling around with the flashlight to make ‘scary’ faces.

“Quit fooling around, you moron.” Guido hissed. “Get your ass over here, and bring that flashlight.”

Guido walked over and soon they turned to the focus on the tripod. I slipped out the sarcophagus and then hid behind the totem pole, just in time as suddenly Guido yelled.

“What the, who’s there!?”

“Let’s get out of here!” Flap wailed.

I took no chances, I pushed the totem pole, but it only swung back and forth. The large wooden salmon on the top fell and I yelped as it hit my head. With everything spinning I tried again, desperate. The tripod’s case shattered, luckily the tripod wasn’t damaged, Flap was knocked flat by the totem pole as the alarm began blaring. I wavered and collapsed, but before I blacked out, I saw a figure dressed up as a pantomime cat swing down from a rope and take out Guido before grabbing the tripod.

XXXXX

“And when I woke up, I was at the police station.” I explained to Nico.

I was in her apartment the following day, after the fallout from the museum robbery.

I sighed. “Luckily I managed to convince Rosso I was innocent.”  
  
“Poor George.” Nico sighed.

It was true, thankfully I had been released after pleading my case, Rosso had accepted that I had just been trying to stop the robbery and so had let me go without charge. Although he did give me a stern warning not to get involved with anything like this again. Still there was the issue of the tripod being taken by Khan.

“What a mess.” I groaned. “I bungled the whole thing.”  
  
“Oh I don’t think so, you did a good job distracting those two crooks.” Nico told me.

I shook my head. “Yeah, but the killer got away with the tripod.”

“No he didn’t.” Nico smirked. “He’s not the only one who can dress up in costume.”

It suddenly came together and I gasped.

“You mean-”  
  
Still smirking, Nico reached under her desk and produced the tripod, setting it on the table.

“It was YOU who stole the tripod.” I realized before groaning. “Oh hell, Nico, I coulda been shot.”

“Those dorks are more likely to shoot their own feet.” Nico scoffed.

I shook my head. “I just wish you told me your plans, we’re supposed to be in this together...and how come you dressed up like a pantomime cat?”

Nico merely shrugged.

She sighed and then protested.

“Don’t sulk Georgie please.” She teased.

I grimaced, recognizing the nickname Andre had given me. “Aww...rats. And don’t call me Georgie.”

“Oh I really thought you’d be pleased, after all we’ve got the tripod.” She reasoned. “Aren’t you going to try putting the gem on the tripod?”  
  
I did so quickly, but nothing happened.

“The gem fits perfectly, but what does that mean?” I wondered.

Nico mused. “Maybe the gem and tripod have to be in a particular place.”

I sighed. “But there’s nothing in the manuscript to indicate where is there?”  
  
Nico shrugged at that and I slipped both the gem and tripod into my pockets.

“Oh, by the way, I had a visit from Andre.” Nico said suddenly.

I replied at once. “Oh yeah, hope you don’t mind me giving him your address.”

“Not at all, it was wonderful to see him again, he was over the moon when he saw the manuscript, it’s not often he gets that excited.” Nico replied with a smile. “He made a sketch of the knight’s crest to take to the museum, I believe he’s identified the family that owns that crest.”  
  
“I sure hope so...I think I know where to go next thought, so...I’ll check it out, I’ll see you later.”  
  
Nico nodded and I left the apartment.

I suddenly realized the truth, the gem and tripod had both come from Lochmarne, and in Lochmarne, I had uncovered the clue to Montfacon, I had to go there, the next clue was there, it had to be.


	13. Gem and Tripod Uncovered

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Gem and Tripod Uncovered**

I arrived at Montfaucon, it was a large square with an architectural echo of the gallows that once stood here, along with a large set of stone stairs leading to a large church. To my left was a typically Parisian sidewalk cafe, outside, seated at one of the tables was an elderly gendarme. I honestly couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I saw him, sitting there, casually drinking wine. I had once read a list of low-stress jobs. It didn’t include police work, obviously this guy hadn’t read the same list. I then noticed that there was a man standing in the middle of the street, a juggler in bright clothes with a crowd of five sightseers watching him. It was then I saw the manhole cover in the middle of the street, right beneath where the juggler stood.

‘ _Hmm, there might be something beneath street level...but if I’m gonna get there, I’ll need to get the juggler and most likely the gendarme out of the way too, he wouldn’t take too kindly to me simply opening up a sewer in front of him after all.’_ I mused.

So, readying myself I walked up, trying to ignore the crowd of sightseers.

“Hey, you with the balls.” I called, getting his attention.

Catching his balls and bowing extravagantly, the juggler turned to me.  
  
“Oui?” He greeted, his tone rather sharp.

Suddenly unsure how to get him to move, I just asked. “What made you decide to become a juggler?”  
  
“Juggler, what is this juggler?” He asked, clearly confused.

“It’s you.” I told him, incredulous. “You juggle, that makes you a juggler.”

He actually looked offended for some reason.

He soon revealed why.

“No, no, no...I am a Jongleur!”

I quirked an eyebrow. “A Jongler, what’s that?”  
  
“Mon Dieu.” He sniffed. “A Jongleur is an artiste, master of the aero-ballatic contra-gravatic mysteries. In centuries past, the crowned heads of Europe had their Jongleurs. Witty erudite men whom the monarchs could turn to in their hours of need.”  
  
He was clearly making up nonsense now.

“Wait a minute, let me get this straight.” I almost laughed. “Our enemies are at the borders, plague ravages the land and...the peasants are revolting. Thank God we’ve got Chuckles the Jongleur to throw his balls around. I don’t think so.”  
  
He sniffled, clearly glowering, even though I made it perfectly clear that what he was saying was obviously nonsense and I knew it.

Changing the subject I then remarked. “That juggling doesn’t look to difficult.”

He scoffed. “Oh, it does not, does it not? Perhaps you feel you could do better, no?”

“I’ll give it a try.”  
  
He handed me the balls and stepped aside. I stepped up, concerned. I had no idea what I was doing, but this guy was obviously an idiot, so how difficult could it be. A lot more difficult than I thought, that’s how difficult I discovered as I failed dismally, dropping the balls on my head.

“Not so easy after all, is it?” He quipped smugly as he gathered his balls.  
  
“No, I guess not.”  
  
With a last smirk he returned to his juggling, leaving me at a loose end.

Deciding to see if he could do anything, I went to talk to the gendarme.

“Excuse me officer.” I got his attention.

He replied, his voice slurred. “And how may I help you?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you think of the Juggler?”

“He is most entertaining.” He replied smiling.

“But aren’t you going to arrest him?” I asked incredulously.

“What for?”

“He’s blocking the thoroughfare and obstructing the traffic.” I pointed out.

The Gendarme shrugged. “So, he is amusing, the traffic isn’t.”  
  
I tried to push things. “He probably doesn’t even have a license.”  
  
“Ah, a license.” He replied. “This I had not considered.”

I had hope. “So, what are you going to do?”

“The instant I return to the station I will make enquiries.” He revealed, killing that hope.

“Why not just asked him?” I pointed out.

“And spoil his concentration?” The gendarme spluttered. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

I sighed, so much for that, I noticed however that he was looking at me strangely and I recalled the tripod in my pocket and tried to shift to make it less obvious, just in case. This however caused him to see something else, the red nose I had picked up in the sewer.

“Ah!” He exclaimed. “You are a clown!”

I glared. “Do I look like a clown?”  
  
“No, although you juggle like one.” He remarked. “Now if I’d known you were a clown, it would have been amusing and not a humiliation for you.”

“What do you mean?” I protested.

“Whoever heard of a plain clothes clown.” He explained.

I had to admit, he had a point.

I pulled out the nose, examining it.

“So, you’re saying...” I wondered. “If I juggle badly with a red nose I’ll be the king of comedy, but if I juggle badly without it-”  
  
“You look like a pathetic loon. Oui M’sieur, you have it.” The gendarme explained.

Bidding farewell to him I returned to the juggler, certain that now I’d have a chance.

“Hey, you with the balls.” I greeted the juggler again.

He caught the balls and bowed again. “Oui?”  
  
He glowered at me arrogantly while I stayed calm and made my request.

“I’d like another try at juggling please.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You have gone on a crash course perhaps?”

“No.” I admitted. “Let’s just say I received an insight into presentation.”

“Huh?”

“Allow me to demonstrate, the balls please.” I requested.

The juggler handed them over with a scoff. “If you insist on completing your humiliation M’sieur.”

He then stepped aside and smirked. Okay, now for my secret weapon, I pulled out the red nose and put it on and made my pathetic attempt at juggling, fumbling the balls and having them hit my head, but this time, the effect was different. Seeing the red clowns nose the crowd assumed that I had actually done it deliberately and cheered, even the gendarme applauded with a grin. I removed the nose and stepped aside. The juggler was speechless with rage, you could have mistaken him for a mime. Without a word he collected his balls and left in a fury.

But I noticed he had forgotten one, the red one. I picked it up and called after him.

“Hey, you forgot one of your balls, hey!”

But he didn’t hear and left. Better still, deprived of his entertainment, the gendarme decided to do some policing for a change and left, as did the tourists, I now had my chance. Pulling out my sewer key I opened the manhole cover and made my way down into the sewers, only to find that this section of sewer was in fact connected to the famous Parisian catacombs. I looked around, the walkway I was on extended over a bridge to the other side, to my left there was only a crumbled ledge that made it way too far to jump. On the other side I cam across three arches with large greyish stones that almost looked like doors with inscriptions on them. Next to the walkway with the archways, there was a small boat with a winch and a hook on a length of chain on it. I looked at the archways, checking the inscriptions, the one furthest away was in medieval French and what little I could make of it seemed to say that this was where the gallows the Templars were executed on used to stand, maybe. The middle archway only had the words Templiers, French for Templars, and something about innocence. The third arch, the one nearest the bridge, was too flaked and damaged to read, in fact it looked in much poorer condition, I wondered why.

Deciding to test a theory, I tapped on the stone with the sewer key, to hear a surprising sound.

‘ _Hey, that’s hollow!’_ I realized. _‘Guess it’s time for some brutal destruction.’_

I used the sewer key and poked a hole through what was revealed to be plaster, revealing it to be a door. Behind the hole, next to the stone wall, was some cogs and a lever. I pulled the lever and to my disappointment, the door only partly opened before a cog came loose and it was stuck. I looked around, there had to be something I could do to get this door open, I’m sure there was something behind it that would be important. My eyes fell on the boat, the mechanism with the hook. It was a long shot but I had no other choice, I got into the boat and turned the handle, which lowered the hook until it lay in a bed of the chain. I picked the hook up and dragged it over and attached it to the hole in the door before returning to the mechanism and turning it. The chain began to withdraw as the hook pulled on the door before ripping it off and making it fall inwards while the hook was pulled back up to the start of it’s position. I grimaced, it was a mess but I had no choice. So I crossed the threshold and looked around. I was on a stone walkway, with a flight of stone steps curving down into a cave mouth, from which there was a glimmer of light, it seemed a good moment to be cautious. I noticed a large crack in the wall at the top of the stairs, showing the same light. I approached and peeked through, to see what was waiting and got the surprise of my life.

The area below was a large square floored chamber, with an underground river next to it, with a boat nearby, the chamber had what looked like a large circular seal on the floor with a circular post in the middle of it. Standing around this was a group of six people, one I recognized right away, much to my shock. He wore a plain suit, had short brown hair, with a similar beard and moustache and dark eyes. It was the Nobel Prize Winner I’d read about in the newspaper I had picked up. A man to his left looked familiar. Roughly the same height as me, mostly bald with grey hair around the sides and back of his head. He also had wide staring dead looking blue eyes, as well as thick grey moustache. There were three others, a woman in a business suit with short brown hair and eyes, a portly white haired, white moustached black eyed military man in a red uniform. The third was another man clad in a dark blue suit with a tie, shirt, he had brown slick hair and hazel eyes, he had the look of a politician, completely untrustworthy. All three had fair skin, as did the last man. He was most bald but with dark brown hair around the back and sides of his head, dark brown eyes and clad in smart but nondescript clothes. It was clear this was some sort of secret meeting of some secret group, despite his unassuming appearance, the last man seemed so obviously to be the leader.

Without any hesitation, the leader began to speak.

“In the beginning was the end.”

They then all chorused. “An end wrought by our enemies, began our darkness!”

He then spoke again. “In the end will be a beginning.”

“An end to our enemies heralds our new day!” They chorused again.

Nodding the leader spoke once more. “Report.”

The portly military man spoke first. “The military establishments are in flux, the end of the cold war has left them with no clear goal and as an obvious target for budgetary cuts. We have successfully promoted a sense of betrayal in the upper echelons. They feel that the politicians have cast them adrift. The pattern is emerging, our time is now.”

“Good.” The leader replied. “Mamsielle?”

She spoke curtly with a strong accent. “Governments are giving the corporations more respect than their own citizens. A ground swell of dissatisfaction and dissidence is growing. The corporations are becoming too large and complex for their own executives to control them, a blind belief in market forces is accelerating this trend the world over. The pattern is emerging, our time is now.”

Attention turned to the politician.

“The global population’s belief in those that govern it has never been lower.” He explained, his voice thick and dour. “We have incalcated a sense of immediacy and action over forethought and planning in all the major governments. They are acting on hasty decisions that cannot be completed or revoked without appearing foolish. The pattern is emerging, our time is now.”

“Excellent.” The leader drawled, showing a French accent. “The tired old governments are dying a slow death, from their own incompetence and our machinations. The millennium is almost upon us and everything is in place for the rise of our New Order...almost.”  
  
He narrowed his eyes as if displeased.

Attention was directed towards Ostvald, the Nobel Prize Winner.

“Professor, where is the Broken Sword?” He demanded.

Clearing his throat Ostvald replied. “Ah, as we discussed last time, with the loss of the manuscript, our search is, as a corollary, hindered.”

“And as we discussed last time, you have been furnished with a drastically increased budget.” The leader hissed. “What have you been doing with our money Professor?”  
  
“We are working on the presumption that the Templars-” He began.

“Ahem!”  
  
He quickly corrected himself. “That is to say, our predecessors...”  
  
Then it clicked and I couldn’t believe it.

‘ _Hold on.’_ I thought, incredulous. _‘These are the Templars.’_

“...must have left a trail, when they were hiding the clues to the Sword of Baphomet’s location.” The Professor continued. “I have a small army of historians and archaeologists ferreting out this trial.”

The man to his left, who I was sure looked familiar, glowered. “I trust these historians and archaeologists are more trustworthy than your friend Peagram.”  
  
Ostvald jumped at that, angry. “Peagram was loyal! He tried to protect the Lochmarne gem when the Hashshashin came near.”

“And failed.” The man scoffed. “And don’t call that Syrian maniac the Hashshashin, he’s an assassin, plain and simple.”  
  
That made me then realize, they were talking about Khan, he was against the Templars, suddenly things were becoming more and more complex.

Ostvald shook his head.

“That’s not what he believes, he actually thinks-”

“Silence!” The leader suddenly yelled. “Do I need to remind you we have a sacred duty, a trust! When Philip attempted to destroy the order, we lost the sword and our power with it. Now we have the opportunity to reforge it. But time is short, we need results, not petty bickering, not excuses. Now Professor, Baphomet.”

Ostvald quickly nodded. “Yes of course, my apologies. We will find Baphomet and the Sword, manuscript or no. We have already found another element, actually within Paris.”

The leader looked impressed. “Excellent, what is it?”  
  
“Well...” Ostvald began with a grimace. “We’re not quite sure, at present.”  
  
“Hah.” The familiar man scoffed.

“But I have my best people working on it.” Ostvald continued before looking smug. “You would do well not to criticize others Eklund. At least I have not murdered one of our own.”  
  
Then it hit me, how I recognized that man. _‘Of course, that guy was the bogus doctor in the hospital.’_

It now made sense, Marquet, Plantard, those two men killed by Khan before, Peagram, these people here, all apparently modern day Templars. Khan apparently a modern day Hashshashin, out to stop them.

“Marquet was a liability.” The leader snapped. “Eklund dealt with him on my orders.”

Ostvald looked uncomfortable. “I beg your pardon Grand Master, I did not mean to-”  
  
So this leader was the Grand Master that Marquet mentioned.

“Have you any good news for us, professor?” He interrupted.

Ostvald straightened up. “We already know three of the elements. We know that Klausner had obtained the lens before he vanished.”  
  
“Where was he?”  
  
“Syria.” Ostvald explained. “We know that he arrived, but after that, nothing.”

Eklund sighed. “The assassin.”  
  
“I’m afraid so.” Ostvald agreed. “It is a shame, Klausner was a good operative.”

They went quiet for a while.

I was still unable to believe what I had just overheard, this was far bigger than I had ever thought and I also couldn’t help but feel this meeting sight was important, that this was what the manuscript had led me to here. But I couldn’t do anything until they left. I peeked through the crack again.

“This will be our last meeting in person until we locate the Sword of Baphomet.” The Grand Master explained. “I hope I don’t need to emphasize the importance of finding it, without it our endeavours come to nothing.”

He then spoke, his voice louder and almost fanatical.

“With the sword reforged we will have the power to sweep the stage of all opposition. The new millennium will belong to us.” He then roared. “The next time that we meet, it will be to become the Princes of this World!”

Still overwhelmed by all this I watched in awe as they boarded the small boat and all left. I waited for a while to make sure they had truly left. Then I made my way down the steps into the chamber and looking around I was able to get a better look at the seal. The Templar sigil was at the very top, and on either side of it, two Latin Phrases. ‘Non omnis Moriar’ and Clarior Eh Tenebris’. ‘I shall not die completely’. ‘The brighter from the darkness’. I took a closer look at the stump in the middle, noting three small depressions in the top, as it sat under a beam of light from the surface.

It was like a lightbulb went on in my head, of course, it all made sense, the tripod, the gem, it fitted, it had to. I quickly pulled out the tripod and set it up on the stump, it’s feet fit perfectly in the small holes. I then took out the gem and put it on top of the tripod and stepped back. The beam of light falling from above struck the gem, and scattered in five neat rays. Each one illuminated a letter from the Latin phrases. Starting from the left and reading to the right I picked out the letters M-A-R-I-B. Marib. Now all I had to do, was figure out what the heck that meant.


	14. A Moment's Respite

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**A Moment’s Respite**

Returning to Nico’s apartment I couldn’t contain myself and blurted out.  
  
“Nico, I’ve seen them!”

She turned to face me. “Who?”

“The Templars.” I explained. “I spied on their meeting in the catacombs.”

She looked incredulous. “And you saw the Knights Templar?”

I shook my head. “I saw a bunch of guys masquerading as Templars.”

I sat down on the sofa next to the door and began to explain.

“They’re after something called The Sword of Baphomet. The bogus doctor was there, the guy who killed Marquet.” I told her. “The manuscript is the key, just as we thought, it shows the way to ‘The Broken Sword’ whatever that is...”  
  
Nico looked even more confused. “And how does the Assassin fit into all this?”  
  
“He’s out to stop them. These Neo-Templars, they’re men and women in influential positions. Don’t you see, Plantard was one of them. The Assassin killed him for the manuscript, to stop them finding the sword.” I told her.

“But now we have the manuscript.” Nico summarised.

“Yeah.”

She shook her head. “So, how do they hope to find the sword?”  
  
“I don’t know. They said something about a lens and a guy called Klausner who’s gone to Syria.” I replied. “But they didn’t seem to realize the significance of the very site of their meeting. You see, after they’d gone I discovered a stone pedestal and a carved inscription, I set up the gem and tripod directly below a beam of light. The gem split the beam and lit up the letters M-A-R-I-B.”

I settled back in the sofa, satisfied with my work.

But Nico’s next words deflated that satisfaction.

“Marib is a village in Syria.”

I sighed. “Then the Neo-Templars are ahead of us, Klausner beat me to it.”

Nico gasped. “You’re not thinking of going there yourself are you?”  
  
“Why not?”

“These guys are crazy and dangerous, that reminds me, you better leave the gem here.” She said seriously.

I nodded. “Okay, what about the tripod?”

“I’ll send it back to Andre, anonymously.” She confirmed. “So...what are you going to do?”

I handed over the gem and tripod and then shrugged. “I guess I’ll go and see Andre, see what he found out earlier. Then I’ll decide where to go next...do you think I _should_ go to Marib?”

“Syria is a long way, George.” She sighed.

I then left the apartment, ready to head to the Crune Museum to see what Andre had discovered about the manuscript. Entering I tried to keep a straight face upon seeing the repaired display case for the tripod, empty except for a card that said ‘Exhibit Temporarily Removed’, anything to deny the security system had failed and the tripod was stolen. Shaking my head I went and approached Andre who was once more studying some of the artefacts.

I got his attention at once.

“Hi Andre.”  
  
He turned to me and smiled. “Hello Georgie. Hey, I visited Nico’s apartment, oh quite a find Georgie boy. I didn’t expect to find something quite so...sexy.”  
  
I glared. “I hope you’re referring to the manuscript.”

“Ah Oui, of course.” Andre replied, a little too quickly.

Shaking my head, I asked. “So, what did you make of the manuscript.”  
  
“It’s a story in pictures much like a modern day comic.” He remarked.

“What story does the manuscript tell?”

“I can’t be sure.” He admitted. “It was probably produced for the tourist market.”

“Tourists?” I remarked, incredulous.

Andre nodded. “Oui, pilgrims flocking in their thousands to the holy land. The tourist trade is nothing new, ever since Joshua made a packet selling bricks from the wall of Jericho.”  
  
“Well, is there anything you could figure out from it?” I asked.

“There’s little to be sure of. The slaying of the bull could be a reference to Mithras.” He explained.

“Who’s he?”  
  
“A Persian God, almost as popular as Christ at one time.” Andre informed me. “The only thing I can be sure of is the knight, he is Spanish.”

“How do you know that?” I wondered, startled.

“The writing on the shield, the reference to Ave Maria.” He said with a smirk. “No self-respecting knight from Northern Europe would have borne a coat of arms like that.”

I was getting excited now, this looked like another clue.

I tried to keep myself composed.

“Did you identify the knight’s coat of arms?” I asked.

He smirked and nodded. “I already did Georgie boy. He’s a member of the de Vasconcellos from Costa Cailida.”

“Were they famous?”  
  
“No, they are not mentioned after the thirteenth century. The spotlight of history moved on, they are probably all long dead.” He explained.

I nodded slowly. “Well, thanks for your help Andre.”  
  
“Glad to be of help Georgie.” He said.

With that he resumed studying and I left the museum to consider my options now. It was beginning to make sense now, the manuscript wasn’t a story, it was a map. The image with the bull, gem and tripod, that had to be leading to Syria. While Andre got the location of Spain from the knight’s shield, I recalled another clue. The ship and the guy working on the loom, Spain was indeed once famed for weaving and ships. I was sure that was the clue leading to Spain, the other two were for something else, I was sure of it. For now however, I had to decide, since I had two choices facing me, Syria or Spain first.

‘ _I’ll be going to both, but...urg, you know what, let’s do it.’_

I made up my mind and headed for the airport, ready to go to Syria.


	15. Marib

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Marib**

I let out a heavy sigh, trying to compose myself in the blistering Syrian heat. After an uneventful flight I’d found myself in Marib, a relatively small walled village or town in the middle of the wilderness in Syria, just large enough to host an airport. I had to admit, the sweltering temperature aside, it was a relatively lovely looking place. The high walls surrounding it suggested it was once a fortified town, designed to repel attacks. The area I was in appeared to be a large market square with ramshackle stands and owners flogging their wares. Nearest where I was standing was what looked like a junk stand, literally, the items on the stand weren’t exactly in the best condition and many were dusty or very old. The stand was being watched by a bored looking boy of maybe twelve, clad in traditional Syrian garb with black hair and eyes. There were three other notable stands with noteworthy merchants by them. Two were directly across from me, on adjacent sides of a square tower like building. One was a fruit merchant, selling some fruits I didn’t even recognize, I had to admit they intrigued me and I decided that I might try one of them later. The other man however seemed to be selling what looked like machine parts, useless machine parts at that, that looked like they came from a stripped down printing press. How he made such a business here in the middle of nowhere, I had no idea. The final stand was a kebab stand and an ugly one at that. It was being watched over by a heavily built, grey haired, brown eyes morose looking man, not exactly a great ad for flogging his wares.

There were two other people present in the market square, both of them American Tourists. How did I know, well, embarrassed as I was to admit it, you could spot an American Tourist a mile off. Both of them were rather heavy looking, the man had short brown hair, brown eyes and an amiable smile. The woman had dark red hair, a beauty mark on the left below her lip, brown eyes and was chatting animatedly to the man selling machine parts. They both wore glasses and were dressed for a vacation, although the woman’s clothes were decidedly conservative. Smart choice considering where we were, I wondered if such respect for local custom was accidental or deliberate. While I had no direct proof I suspected they were a married couple, the woman appeared to be shopping while the man was sightseeing, taking pictures with his camera. The only other thing of interest in the market square was tucked almost out of sight behind the square building, a beat up old army truck of all things. Shaking my head I spotted some stone steps leading up to what looked to be an old tower. Curious I decided to check it out, I was still stuck looking for leads on Klausner and this lens he was supposed to have found, wondering how it tied in to the manuscript and whatever the Broken Sword was.

Exiting the steps I found myself on a stone walkway which led to a dead end. The only thing here was a large carpet stall under a canopy, with a bearded dark haired, dark eyed Syrian man, with a wide grin. He looked craftier than the offspring of a fox and an insurance agent. I had to admit his collection of wares was impressive and if I’d the time and money I might have bought a couple of rugs from him. Then something caught my eye, it was the carpet or rug or whatever hanging right in the middle of the stall, it was orange in colour with a rather familiar pattern on it.

‘ _I’ve seen that before, but where…?’_

Even more curious now I approached the carpet merchant.

“Hello sir.” He greeted me enthusiastically. “Lovely carpets.”  
  
He gestured to his wares and I smiled. “I was wondering, could you tell me what that symbol means?”  
  
I pointed to the carpet, the man shook his head.

“Yes, yes, carpets yes.”

I sighed, he seemed to only want to talk about his wares. I looked at the design again, tucking my hands in my pockets and then, as I felt my hand touch it, I realized right away why it was familiar. I pulled out the match book I had taken from Khan’s room at the Ubu. The pattern on it was exactly the same. When he saw it the carpet seller went wide-eyed.

“Ah, give to me, give to me, Alamut!” He cried.

I started, remembering the name, Club Alamut. I handed him the match book and he pocketed it before looking around carefully. He then pulled back the carpet I had noted to reveal a staircase hidden behind it.

‘ _Okay...is this a trap?’_ I wondered worriedly.

But with no other leads I made my way up the stairs into the building they led up to.

I entered what looked like a moderately sized room, with two booths along the walls to my left, a bar to my right as I entered with a display of drinks behind the bar, it was a rather low key looking club, the only other door accessible was closed, wooden, just behind the furthest booth on the left, a small sign on it. The wall directly opposite and the right wall was a long L-shaped sofa. Two other unpleasant items that caught my eye was two gold coloured spittoons, both nearly full. Beautiful on the outside, not so much on the inside. Behind the bar was a heavyset bald man with a black toothbrush moustache, black eyes and thick black eyebrows. He was dressed smartly in a desert coloured suit with a red tie and fez. I guessed he was the owner. Seated on a stool by the bar was the only other person in the place. A tall large man with black hair, green eyes and a thick walrus moustache. He wore simple looking clothes, with a similar waistcoat, he also had high light brown boots with upturned toes and a cap upon his head. I stepped up to the bar, about to speak to the owner when suddenly, the other man spoke up.

“Many beneficent greetings my most fortune possible friend.”  
  
I turned to him, startled by his sudden words. “Huh, do I know you mister?

“No, no, and again I say, no.” He replied. “But sir, do you not not see the mutual good fortune at this meeting?”  
  
I quirked an eyebrow at that. “How frank do you want me to be?”

“You are a traveller, yes?”  
  
“Boy, you must be the world’s greatest detective.” I quipped sarcastically.

He clearly missed it though. “No, I am told that is Sherlock Holmes of the big forehead and slipper full of shag. I as contrast am world’s greatest luxury taxi driver.”

“I can see where this is going.” I mused.

“I am Ultar, taxi driver and luxury guide per excellent, yes.” He introduced himself.

‘ _This I HAD to hear.’_

Ultar then began his spiel. “Where does your heart desire to go, simply mention the name to your obedient servant and we shall fly there, swift as the eagle.”

“Oh well, I don’t really want to leave Marib yet.” I replied. “But if I’m sure that if I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Is good.” Ultar said with a grin. “You know where you want to go, you come to Ultar.”  
  
“Thanks well, see you around Ultar.”

He nodded. “Be having a pleasant day full of shining experiences and happiness, my friend.”

With that he relaxed against the bar again.

Not wanting to be rude I turned to the owner again. I noted his bonhomie seemed forced, no wonder looking at the club, this wasn’t what they meant when they said the joint was jumping. I noted the bottles again and was surprised to see alcohol on open sale in Syria. Then I realized this wasn’t really open sale. _Then_ I realized they weren’t even alcoholic drinks anyway.

Clearing my throat I spoke to the owner. “Hello, nice club you have here.”

He gave some sort of garbled reply, which confused.

“Huh, I beg your pardon, I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Ultar turned to us and spoke up. “No surprise there, alrighty, but he say sorry, but he no speak English.”

I turned, confused. “But, he didn’t say anything?”

“He not have tongue.”  
  
“No tongue, what happened?” I gasped in horror.

Ultar shrugged casually. “It was bet.”  
  
I nodded, realizing. “Ah, and he lost.”  
  
“He won.” Ultar revealed. “You should see other chappie, oh yes.”

I bit my lip at that, now I understood why Ultar seemed so comfortable here, he was here regularly, acting as the owners translator. Politely excusing myself I began to look around the club, I approached the closed door, I guessed it was some kind of toilet. While I didn’t need to go, I probably felt I should wash my face after all the Syrian heat. But the door wouldn’t open, I guessed it was locked. Suddenly I heard the a familiar garbled sound.

I turned to see the owner pointing at me.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”  
  
Ultar spoke up. “He said you not to go in toilet, read sign, matey.”

“Matey?” I queried.

“It lose something in translation.” He shrugged.

I turned back to the door and squinted at the sign, it was in Arabic and so I couldn’t understand a word of it. With a heavy sigh I made my way back to Ultar.

“Hello again Ultar.”  
  
He smiled widely. “Praise be to Allah, I am blessed with your bountiful presence once more.”

“What does that sign on the door say?” I asked.

“It say, door stay shut until brush come back, signed the management.”

I blinked, surprised. “What does that mean?”

Ultar explained. “Manager buy lovely new toilet brush, leave by wash basin for ten minutes, come back, it been stealen, stolen. Not even out of wrapper, he damn cross. He lock door saying, no one use fine pristine toilet till brush returned. We say, what we do till then? He say, cross legs and use superior willpower.”

“And that’s what you’ve been doing?” I asked, incredulous.

“No.” He replied. “Ultar use bucket.”  
  
I grimaced, so, if I wanted into that bathroom, I needed to find the toilet brush. I then remembered something, I had to be sure, I didn’t want another nasty surprise like in Ireland. Reaching into my jacket I pulled out the photograph and showed it to Ultar.

“Have you seen this man before.”  
  
Ultar surprisingly nodded. “Oh yes, was here only yesterday.”

“Here. Yesterday?” I gasped. “My God he’s close.”  
  
Suddenly things became a lot more nerve racking. Khan was here, in Syria.

Ultar continued to explain.

“Yes, he was asking lot of questions, just like you.”  
  
“What did he asked about?” I queried worriedly.

Ultar thought for a moment. “He ask about American called, Stobbie.”

“Stobbart?”

“Yes Stobbart, you know him?” Ultar confirmed.

That filled me with dread, the killer knew my name.

“What...else did he ask about?” I tried to remain calm.

Ultar considered. “He ask about German man called Klobner.”

I tried to remember the name of the man the conspiracy had lost in Syria. “Was his name, Klausner?”  
  
“Yes, this is what Ultar said, Klausner.” He confirmed. “I tell this man in the picture, Klausner wanted to go to Bulls Head.”

“Hold on.” I was confused. “He wanted to go where?”

“Bulls Head, big hill, ten miles out of town, maybe sixty.” He explained.

I nodded slowly. “How long ago was this?”  
  
Ultar did his best to recall. “Oh, maybe a week ago.”  
  
“How do I get there?” I asked before realizing I already knew. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

“You’ll be needing luxury guide with perfect air conditioned taxi.”

I jokingly sigh. “Woe is me, where will I find such a guide.”  
  
Ultar’s grin widened. “And Ultar is best luxury guide with just such taxi for literally many miles around.”

“Gee-wilikers, lucky me.” I quipped. “Alright, let’s get going.”  
  
Ultar raised his hand however, confusing me.

He seemed to be running something through in his mind.

“Hold a moment, hmm, a trip to Bulls Head Hill...fifty Yankee dollars please.”

“Fifty bucks?” I cried. “I don’t have fifty bucks.”  
  
“Oh most regrettable affair, most esteemed fare.”

I couldn’t let this chance slide. “Hold on Ultar, is there something I could barter with?”  
  
“I wish it were so.” He remarked. “But my taxi needs gas and it’s muffler needs the muffler doctor, bartering for these things is not possible.”  
  
I sighed and let the matter go, it was clear that if I wanted to go after Klausner, I’d need to get fifty bucks somehow. I also had the mystery of the missing toilet brush to deal with too. So, I left the club and began making my way back down to the market.


	16. An Unpleasant Task

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**An Unpleasant Task**

Stepping back down into the market square I wrinkled my nose at the smell. It was coming from the kebab stand, no surprise since, in the still air, the smell hung around like bad smells do. It was then I saw it and felt even more grossed out. The horrific truth, the morose looking kebab seller was basting his kebabs, with the missing toilet brush. It may never have seen the inside of a toilet, but it was hardly appetising.

‘ _Still, that’s the brush I need, I need to get it back from him somehow.’_ I thought to myself as I approached him. “Hello sir, what’s your name?”  
  
He didn’t answer my question, instead he looked up, slightly hopeful. “Hello, you buy kebab, yes?”  
  
“Um no, I was just hoping I could ask you-” I began.

“Buy kebab, most good.” He insisted. “Kam tureed?”  
  
I realised quickly that, just like the carpet seller, I wasn’t going to get anywhere, he was too focused on his wares.

“Um, never mind, I’ll see you later.” I said.

“Most good.” He called after me.

I thought for a moment, I needed to think things through. So I was back to that old trick of asking around. So, without really thinking about it, I approached the American man I had seen earlier.

“Hi there, I was wondering if you could help me?”  
  
He turned to me and smiled amiably. “Why sure son, always got time for a fellow American. The name’s Henderson, Duane Henderson.”

I smiled at that.

I was glad to finally he having a reasonable and normal conversation.  
  
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Henderson.”

He shook his head, laughing. “Hell boy, I ain’t in the office, call me Duane.”  
  
“Okay, hi Duane.” I replied. “My name’s George Stobbart.”  
  
I thought for a moment, considering a few things I wanted to know more about.

Just making conversation I started lightly. “You’re a long way from home, Duane.

He shrugged, replying casually. “Yeah, could say the same about you George.”

“Me?” I started. “Oh I’m just sight-seeing is all.”

“Without a camera. Kinda lax to come all this way and not take pictures.” He remarked. “Mind if I take a picture of you George?”

“Huh?”  
  
He then did so and the flash was almost blinding.  
  
“Ow, you coulda warned me.” I complained.

“You don’t mind do ya, the folks back home will be real interested.”

I shrugged, letting it go and considered what to ask.

“Do you mind if I ask you a strange question?” I queried at last.

“Okay, but I might not answer it.” He said.

So I asked. “Do you know the Templars?”

“The Knight’s Templar?”

“Yeah, that’s them.” I confirmed.

He shook his head. “Nope, not a damn thing.”  
  
I quirked an eyebrow at that. “Well you know they were an order of knights?”

“What I know and what I say are two different things, George.” Duane explained. “I haven’t lasted this long in this business without knowing that.”  
  
“In this business?” I wondered.

“Sure, the greetings card business.”  
  
Oh puh-lease. So much for that.

Trying to find something, anything, recalling the image from the manuscript I asked.

“Do you think bulls have any significance around here?”  
  
“Another weird question, George.” Duane quipped. “But nope, don’t think they have.”  
  
“What about Bulls Head Hill?”

“Where’s that?” He asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know exactly, just know it’s around here, I’ve been trying to find out.”  
  
“Bull’s Head huh?” He mused. “I must remember that, sounds...scenic.”  
  
Deciding to allay some curiosity I then asked. “What exactly is it you do Duane?”  
  
“Didn’t I say?” He replied. “I run a greetings card company in Cleveland, Ohio, my wife Pearl writes the poems that go in them, you oughta ask her to recite some.”

“Where is your wife, Duane?”

“Pearl, oh she’s out looking for bargains.” He said fondly.

That confirmed my suspicions that the woman I had seen had been this man’s wife.

I smiled lightly. “How long have you been married Duane.”

“Hell must be about thirty years now.” He said with a warm smile.

I had one more question to ask. “Does the image of a knight holding a crystal ball mean anything to you?”  
  
“Hell no, what would a knight want with a hunk of glass?” Duane countered.

“I don’t know, that’s the prob-” I stopped suddenly as it dawned on me.

“What’s wrong son?”  
  
“It’s not a crystal ball.” I realized.

It all came together in my head, what the conspirators had mentioned losing in Syria, the strange perspective of the manuscript.

“It’s a lens.” It all made sense, the lens Klausner had found. “S-sorry, got distracted, I have to go but we’ll talk again later.”  
  
Duane nodded. “Count on it George.”  
  
With that we went our separate ways and I went and spoke to Pearl too; rather like Duane she seemed a little spacey at times, but she seemed to be more on board than her husband. It was from her I learned that they actually lived and worked in Akron, Ohio and that Duane had been medically discharged with shell-shock after a tour of Vietnam with the Marines. So now some of his strangeness made sense, including, Pearl warned me, believing he was a spy on a secret mission.

I made my way over to the junk stand, taking note a few things I hadn’t noticed before, such as a bell on the counter, the type you’d see in hotel receptions, as well as an ugly looking brute of a cat who lay on the counter as if he owned the place. I tapped the bell, it rang once and the door next to the stand came out. A gruff looking Syrian man with brown hair, sharp eyes and clad in a red sleeveless top and patchwork pants emerged, pointed at the boy standing next to the stall and went back inside. After briefly embarrassing myself by trying to see if the boy spoke any common language to me, I learned that he was in fact fluent in his native Arabic, as well as English, French and Spanish.

After making that reveal the boy smiled. “My name is Nejo, welcome to my stand of quality merchandise.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, the name’s George.” I replied, then, unable to help my curiosity. “Is that your father lurking back there?”  
  
“Oh yes, a most roaring fellow, Ayub is his name.”

“Doesn’t sound like you respect him much.” I mused.

Nejo quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t I, not only do I respect him I rather like him, for all his bluster we get on well.”  
  
Okay, a little strange but I continued to make conversation with Nejo, asking about the Templars, knights, Ultar, Duane and Pearl, and even about some of the items I had in my pocket. It turned out Nejo didn’t have much information about the Templars or knights, or a high opinion of Ultar. He mused that while Duane seemed odd, he got the feeling Pearl was brighter than she let on, it was true she seemed a little flighty, but he might have a point. But then I asked about the kebab seller.

“That is Arto, sir.” He told me.

“He doesn’t look very happy.” I noted.

Nejo shook his head. “He never is, day in, day out, face like a wet Wednesday...whatever one of those is.”  
  
“Does he speak any English?”

“Not cogently no.” Nejo admitted.

I sighed, so much for that. I spoke about a few more things, Nejo seemed surprisingly impressed by the red ball I got from the juggler, despite his obvious intelligence, he was still a kid it seemed.

I decided, since no one else seemed willing to help out, that maybe I could ask Nejo.

“Listen, Nejo, this is gonna sound strange but, I need Arto’s brush.”  
  
“What?” He gasped, looking at me strangely. “The brush he bastes his kebabs with?”

I nodded and he shook his head. “Let me find some dirty postcards for you instead?”  
  
“Nejo this is serious, Arto stole that brush from a friend and I have to get it back.” I told him.

His expression changed again, this time becoming thoughtful. “Perhaps I could help you, maybe...”  
  
“Perhaps what, maybe what?” I asked.

“I don’t wish to seem mercenary, but I am a merchant and merchants trade.” He told me.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Merchant, this isn’t Sears and Roebucks here.”  
  
“Well, if you’re going to be disagreeable...”

“No, no.” I said quickly. “What do you want?”  
  
He made a show of being thoughtful, a little overdone to be honest. “I seem to recall you had something that could alleviate my boredom, a globe of delight, a rubicund sphere of-”  
  
“You mean the ball don’t you.” I said. “If you want the ball just say so.”  
  
“Could I have the ball please, mister.”

“Okay, here you go.” I said with a slight laughing, giving it to him.

“Thank you sir.” He said. “Now, the brush, all you have to do is be polite to Arto. It brightens his day, makes it worthwhile for him again.”

I sighed. “How can I be polite to the guy if I don’t a word of Syrian?”  
  
“Arabic.”  
  
“That’s what I meant.”

Nejo nodded. “Just memorise this phrase. ‘Il a’kl kalb’.”  
  
“Il akl kalb?” I repeated.

“Close enough.” Nejo told me. “Now go and delivered these honeyed words into Arto’s delicate ear and he won’t be able to do enough for you.”  
  
“Really?” I wondered.

“Really.”  
  
I nodded and turned around, hopeful.

I approached the kebab stand again.

“Hello again sir.”  
  
He looked up, again that hopeful look in his eyes. “Hello, kebab, mmmm, yes?”  
  
I cleared my throat. “Um, Il akl kalb?”

To my shock his face contorted into an expression of pure rage.

“Filthy, bad, bad.” He roared. “I kill you!”  
  
“Whoa calm down I...” I saw that reason wasn’t going to work. “Feet, do your thing.”  
  
So it was I ended up running from Arto as he came after me with the knife he used to slice his kebabs. I knew he’d stopped pursuing but I didn’t stop, not until I was back in the club Alamut. I found myself breathing heavily, the heat wasn’t making this easier. What the hell happened there, that wasn’t what Nejo claimed would happen. Feeling suspicious I turned to Ultar.

“Excuse me Ultar.”  
  
He smiled at me. “Ah, hello again, possible future client.”  
  
“Well, maybe.” I remarked. “What does Il akl kalb mean?”

“Who teach you that?” He asked, suspicious.

“Nejo told me to say it to Arto.”

“Nejo, ha, Ayub’s boy, is too big for sandals that one.” Ultar replied. “You said that and Arto came after you with big knife yes?”  
  
I stared, incredulous. “Yeah, how did you know?”

He chuckled. “I know Arto, you tell him in bad Arabic that his kebabs made from dog meat.”

“I said he was using dog food.” I gasped. “No wonder he went crazy.”  
  
“No, Ultar not mean meat for dog.” Ultar told me, shaking his head. “Ultar mean meat of dog.”  
  
“Oh...ew.”

It was worse than I thought. Grimacing I left the club and made my way back down to the market square. Apart from giving me the evil eye, Arto didn’t do anything thankfully.

I made my way back to Nejo’s and glared at him.

“What the heck Nejo, I-”

“Patience sir.” He said calmly.

But I was anything but calm. “Patience, PATIENCE? I’ve been chased by a homicidal kebab seller and you expect me to be PATIENT!?”  
  
To my surprise, Nejo smirked. “But consider sir, while you were running from the irate Arto. The irate Arto wasn’t using the brush.”  
  
“Hold on, are you tell me I’ve been used as a diversionary tactic?” I realised.

Nejo then held it out. “Your brush sir.”  
  
I took it from him, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you put me on that kebab seller’s death list, for a toilet brush.”  
  
“The ends justify the means sir.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, well I noticed it wasn’t your butt that was on the line though.”

“They also serve who only stand and wait sir.” He said by way of reply.

“Oh spare me.”  
  
So, turning back I began to head for the club, now that I had the missing toilet brush.


	17. Need Some Dollars

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Need Some Dollars**

Returning to the club I approached the owner and thought for a moment. There didn’t seem much point in launching an in depth conversation, when I couldn’t speak Arabic and he couldn’t speak, period. Well, I did know a few words of Arabic, but doubted the wisdom of using them. Instead I took out the toilet brush and held it out to him.

“Here’s your brush sir, it wasn’t easy getting it back.”

He gave me a grimace of a smile, took the brush from me, put the toilet keys down on the bar and then stomped off into a back room. I took the keys and turned to Ultar.

“What was all that about?” I asked.

Ultar explained. “Manager he say ‘bah, look at state of this, need much cleaning in detergent before go around MY U-bend.’”

“He said all that?” I wondered.

“Body language account for much you know, oh yes indeedy.” Ultar replied.

Nodding I walked over to the toilet, unlocked the door and, slipping the keys into my pocket, I entered, and then stopped dead. No wonder the guy kept it locked up after the brush was stolen, attempting to keep the toilet clean, this place was _immaculate_. I’d never seen a toilet so clean, everything, the tiled floor, the tiled walls, the sinks, even the mirror was shining. The green cubicle was spotless and when I opened it, so too was the oddly designed floor level toilet and the ceiling high cistern with toilet chain. Finally taking the chance to wash my face, trying not to drip too much water, I cleaned my hands and face off on the roller towel before noting the keyhole in the dispenser.

I paused, worried, I was technically stealing after all, but after everything I’d been through and done so far, especially with learning how the strangest objects had their uses, I just had a gut feeling I’d need the towel. So I unlocked the dispenser with the other key on the keyring given to me and pocketed both. I left the bathroom, nodding to Ultar as I passed and made my way back down to the market, I still needed to find fifty dollars to get Ultar to take me to Bull’s Head Hill. I heard a sound and noticed that Nejo was already playing with the ball I gave him, bouncing it against the wall of his house, just by the door. I approached his stall and paused, I looked around, spotting Duane, before finally sighing. It was no good, there was no way I could get the money. Duane probably had some, but I couldn’t ask him to let me borrow it as I had no way of paying him back. I couldn’t even get anything from Nejo’s stall, or convince Nejo to part with any of it to sell to Duane, he was after antiques, not junk.

‘ _Wait a minute...’_ I realized as my eyes landed on the cheap plaster statuette.

Plaster was highly absorbent and I still had the greasepaint smeared tissue, with a little artistic work I could make the statuette look less like cheap plaster and more valuable maybe. But I didn’t have the means to get it. At least not until I realized something, something which made me grimace and feel guilty, but I was in a tight spot. I had accidentally almost touched the cat resting on the stall, making it hiss at me and leap up onto the shelf next to the statuette. Hoping this would work I timed it just right and rang the bell, just as Nejo threw his ball at the wall again.

Ayub barged out, the opening door catching the ball and making it bounce around the stall, nearly hitting the cat which shrieked and darted off, running away, knocking the statuette off the shelf and onto the ground. Ayub glared and took the ball off Nejo before heading back inside. Nejo turned back around and heaved a sigh, hands in his pockets, but simply resumed his business as usual. I still felt guilty and hoped he’d get the ball back soon. Turning my attention to the statuette I picked it up and moved out of sight, it looked sorry for itself after its fall, both arms broken off, pretty chipped. But my plan still just might work. I pulled out the tissue and began to wipe it over the statuette and before long the greasepaint had worked magic, it now looked like aged marble instead of cheap plaster. Pocketing both items and trying to appear casual I approached Duane.

“Hi there Duane.”

He smiled. “Hi George, how can I help you, young fella.”  
  
I pulled out the statuette. “Feast your eyes on this.”  
  
“Good gravy, looks old.”  
  
“Uh huh.” I nodded. “I had to turn this town upside down.”  
  
“Your luck’s better than ours.” He remarked. “Looks Roman.”  
  
“I wouldn’t know.” I replied with a shrug.

“What’ll they say back home, how much do you want for it George?”  
  
“Oh I couldn’t.” I replied with as much effort as I could muster. “It’s the find of a lifetime...”  
  
Duane smirked. “Fifty bucks take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it. Here you go.” I said, giving Duane the statuette.

Duane took it and grinned, handing over the money. “And here _you_ go.”  
  
I gratefully took the money, pocketing it. “Thanks for the money Duane, this is gonna come in real handy.”  
  
“I should thank you for finding this Roman statuette.” Duane returned with a grin.

Satisfied I immediately began making my way back to the club.

Entering the club I stepped up to Ultar.

“Hello again Ultar.”  
  
He gave his usual grin. “Praise be to Allah, I am blessed with your bountiful presence once more.”  
  
“About Bull’s Head Hill?” I queried casually.

“Are you desirous of seeing this most splendid place?” He asked.

“Well, maybe.”  
  
“A terrific bargain.” He continued. “For just fifty of your Yankee Dollars.”

“Fifty huh.” I drew it out with a smirk. “It’s a deal, here’s the cash.”  
  
I handed the money over and Ultar counted it.

“Ah splendid. As you say, the cash price moolah is correct.” He replied delighted.

He leapt down from his stool.

“Mister, we must make haste.” He cried.

I had to ask however. “Where exactly is your taxi, because the only vehicle I’ve seen is a beat up old army truck.”

“Yes?”

I realized. “Ah, okay. I’ll be along in a moment.”  
  
With that Ultar left and I turned back to the bar. It didn’t seem right to take off with the toilet keys, so I fished them out of my pocket and put them on the bar before heading back down to join Ultar in the market square, next to the old army truck.

“Ah, is most splendid and adventurous client.” He greeted me.

I looked incredulously at the truck. “That’s your taxi?”  
  
“Oh yes.” He remarked. “Is most wonderful taxi in all Marib.”

“Looks like an old army truck to me.”  
  
Ultar gave me a disgusted look. “Pah, you Americans with your checky-board cabs and your Judd Hersches. You have lost sight of what a taxi should truly be.”  
  
“About four tons by the look of it.” I quipped.

But again Ultar smiled, seemingly missing my sarcasm. “There you have the nail on the nutshell.”  
  
I just shook my head, smiling, I had my ride to pick up the trail, that was what mattered.

Deciding to get things back on track I spoke up.

“Okay, let’s get going.”

Ultar’s face fell however. “Regrettably not most esteemed fare, there is a tiny problem of an insignificant nature, the fan belt has taken it upon itself to break.”  
  
That was not tiny or insignificant by any means. “What are you gonna do?”  
  
“What can I do?” He lamented. “I must wait for ride to garage for replacement.”  
  
“How long will that take?” I asked worriedly.

“One day, maybe six.”  
  
I gasped. “I can’t wait that long, I have to get moving.”  
  
“But how, my friend?” Ultar shot back.

I sighed. “I’ll think of something.”

I pondered for a while, trying to think, how could this be resolved. I of course had the solution, I had been wondering if it was right to take it and now here I was with confirmation.

“Is this any use to you?” I asked Ultar, pulling out the towel from the club toilet.

Ultar’s face lit up. “My friend, the very thing, yes.”  
  
He took the towel from me, tore it in two lengthways and gave me half back. With his half, he did the kind of fan belt repair normally done with stockings.

“Now, if I knot the ends together.” He muttered as he worked. “Serviceable yes, very serviceable indeed.”  
  
Stockings might work on a Bently, but on the truck, the coarse towelling did the job.

“Come along my friend.” Ultar said as he closed the hood. “You want to see the Bull’s Head, yes!?”  
  
I nodded and we climbed in, Ultar started the truck up and began to drive out of Marib. He wasn’t kidding about the air conditioning, it was heavenly as we drove out into the wilderness, heading for Bull’s Head Hill.


	18. The Hidden Secret

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**   
**The Hidden Secret**

I let out a low whistle as I looked up from where I stood at the foot of Bulls Head Hill, more like a small mountain really.  
  
“Is most splendid, yes?” Ultar remarked.  
  
I nodded. “Yeah, um, I’m gonna take a look around...”  
  
Ultar agreed. “Is good, Ultar wait here. But...not for too long, Ultar not want a repeat of what happened to Klobner, Klausner.”  
  
“It’ll be fine Ultar.” I said as reassuringly as I could. “I just need to take a look around, I’ll be back.”  
  
“If you not back before time is up, Ultar come looking, okay.” He said.  
  
I smiled at that. “Okay, thanks Ultar.”  
  
With that I began to make my way up the only path that led up the Bulls Head Hill. It was a lengthy walk and I didn’t stop until I found myself right at the top, overlooking a large cliff that offered a spectacular view of the Syrian countryside. The only features I could see after a careful look around were a lone tree growing at the edge of the drop and a crack in the rock face not too far from the tree, to the left as I faced it. The crack was naturally formed from hot days and cold nights, but as I looked at it I noticed another ledge below me. I wondered if there was anything down there. But I couldn’t get there, I tried to lower myself down, but the distance was too great. I pulled myself back up and began to think, wondering how I was going to get past this problem.  
  
It took some lateral thinking but a solution came up when I broke a branch off the tree and used the length of towelling I still had, securing it to the branch in a textbook reef knot. I then set it down with the branch as an anchor point and the towelling forming a rope that led down towards the ledge. I still would have to drop down, but now I wouldn’t have as far to go, hopefully.  
  
 _‘Yeah that looks really safe.’_ I noted sarcastically. _‘Well, no choice...hadn’t anticipated doing anything like this when I came here.’_  
  
I began to clamber down, to my relief the towelling held and I was able to drop the last few feet and found myself on the lower ledge. Once again aside from an amazing view, which, if I went up to the edge, I could look down and see the canopy of Ultar’s soft-top truck some distance below, there didn’t appear to be anything here. That was until I spotted something, the rock face behind me looked curiously misshapen. I examined it closely, but couldn’t see anything obvious. To my left was a bare face of rock, with only a small niche at the bottom.  
  
 _‘Wait a second.’_ I realized, looking closer.  
  
Close up, the niche looked somehow, artificial, man made. Now I knew I’d have to check this out, but there was an issue. I didn’t like the idea of sticking my hand in there.  
  
I steeled myself. _‘What the heck, I’m only risking mutilation, right.’_  
  
I stuck my hand into the hole, no blade to my hand off at the wrist and no scorpion stung me, for which I was very grateful. But there was something in there, a metal ring, about as wide as my hand.  
  
Reacting immediately, I took a firm hold of the ring, tried not to think of death traps, and pulled.  
  
“Whoa there?” I gasped.  
  
The misshapen rock face slid up, a hidden door, revealing some sort of long cave inside. Smiling at this new discovery I entered. As I walked down the cave, my footsteps echoing, I noticed that the walls, floor, were all man-made, carved. The cave rounded a corner and the moment I turned it I found the corpse.  
  
“Oh my God, Klausner?”  
  
It was him, a dark haired man, or rather emaciated corpse, with an apparent Indiana Jones liking going by his attire. Large as life and twice as dead. I hardly had time to accept that fact when I heard the door mechanism starting up again. I spun around and began to run, only to see the door slam shut.  
  
“Oh man, no!”  
  
But I was no good, I was trapped. I had a bad feeling about how Klausner had died. With the door shut the air inside became still, and rather hot. Ignoring the building sweat as best I could, I approached the door and couldn’t help but notice, faint bloody finger marks on the rock, as if someone had tried to claw their way out. Examining the door high and low I searched for something, anything, but got nothing, I was still trapped. Left with no other choice I turned and made my way back to Klausner’s body.  
  
In his hand was a bottle, but it was empty, he’d drunk it all, he must’ve died from dehydration, or something like that. There weren’t any marks of violence on him after all, except for his fingertips being scraped raw and that seemed self-inflicted, I remembered the marks on the door.  
  
“Okay, alright...” I told myself. _‘I’ve done more fun things in my life than search a corpse, but since my life expectancy isn’t great, might as well try every new challenge that comes my way.’_  
  
I began to search Klausner’s body, no portable phone, no five course meal, no demolition charges, you’d think international conspirators would go around better equipped. But then I found something, a lens, a very old lens, made of a very hard glass.  
  
 _‘That settles it, the knight on the manuscript has been holding a lens this whole time, not a crystal ball.’_  
  
It was another clue for the manuscript and now I had it, but I was still trapped in this cave, kinda a mixed result. Standing up I finally realized what Klausner was slumped against, it was a large pagan statue depicting three bearded faces, it was an old image, but a powerful one, exuding an aura of ancient mystery. Sure was an ugly one though. I decided to check out the rest of the cave, there was only a few more feet. I walked across and soon found a part of the wall that wasn’t worked rock, but an actual inscription that seemed to be a map of some sort. It showed an island and above and below it was a Latin inscription.  
  
I examined it carefully, found it was firmly attached to the wall; I couldn’t take it with me and I didn’t have a camera or anything to take a photo. I could only stare at it and try to memorise it.  
  
“In occidenta sita est, in ora mundi.” I read. “Okay.”  
  
That would have to do. Then I heard the grinding of stone. The door was opening, it must be Ultar.  
  
‘My god, if he comes in, we’ll both be trapped.’ I realized and shouted. “ULTAR, DON’T COME IN, IT’S A TRAP, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”  
  
I ran to try and get to the door before it closed again, only to stop dead just after rounding the corner as it wasn’t Ultar standing in the mouth of the cave, it was Khan. Almost at once my hands were up as he pulled a gun, smirking.  
  
“Hello Mr. Stobbart.” He hissed in that snake like voice of his. “We meet in the most unusual places. Please, do not make any sudden moves, I have no desire to maim you.”  
  
“Did you say, maim?”  
  
“I did.” He confirmed. “Dead men tell no tales after all, and I want to hear everything you have to tell me.”  
  
I bit my lip. “What if I don’t want to talk?”  
  
“Then I shall, most regrettably, have to kill you. Rest assured I am a professional, you would feel no pain.” He drawled.  
  
“Oh that’s good.” I replied sarcastically. “Believe me, I’m really assured.”  
  
Khan merely shook his head. “It is rather dark in here, let us conduct out business outside.”  
  
“Why should I make myself an easier target?” I countered.  
  
Khan glared. “If I fired at you I would hit you, even in here, Stobbart. But unfortunately, my marksmanship would suffer. It could be the differences between me hitting you in the leg...or the groin.”  
  
“Boy it sure is hot in here.” I replied, hoping to make it seem like that was why I was agreeing.  
  
“No sudden moves, Stobbart.” He warned.  
  
With that Khan stepped aside, gun still trained on me as I made my out of the cave at last.  
  
I now stood on the ledge, my back to the long drop, below which Ultar’s truck was still waiting. Khan stood in front of me, gun aimed at me.  
  
“Now then, where should we start?” He hissed.  
  
“How about being bosom buddies and you putting that gun away.” I quipped.  
  
To his credit, Khan smirked at that, but he didn’t put the gun away. “Klausner, do you know where he is?”  
  
“Yup, he’s dead.” I replied honestly, there was no point in lying. “Just around the corner of the cave, you can have a look if you want.”  
  
Khan shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it, he was caught in this trap you were shouting about? Yes, makes sense, the Templars don’t divulge their secrets easily...How did he die?”  
  
I sighed. “Starvation or dehydration from the look of it.”  
  
“Was he carrying anything of importance.”  
  
I hesitated for a moment, but again decided to be honest. “Yeah, some sort of lens. I’ve got it here.”  
  
“Give it to me.”  
  
“I don’t think so.” I countered.  
  
Khan glowered. “Don’t be a fool Mr. Stobbart.”  
  
“If I give it to you, what’s to stop you killing me?” I pointed out.  
  
“What is to stop me killing you anyway.” He hissed.  
  
“You might hit the lens.”  
  
“Not if I shoot you in the head.” He snapped, aiming the gun there now.  
  
“When I fall the lens might get broken.” I protested quickly.  
  
Khan lowered his gun from my head, looking thoughtful.  
  
Finally he spoke.  
  
“You plead convincingly Stobbart. Perhaps you’ll live to see another day.” He paused before adding venomously. “Perhaps. Was there anything else?”  
  
I nodded. “There is something but it can’t be moved, it’s a map of some sort of island with a Latin inscription on it.”  
  
“Latin, do you remember it Stobbart?”  
  
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “In occidenta sita est, in ora mundi.”  
  
Khan’s eyes widened. “Ah, the words of Ceaser, that makes sense.”  
  
“Well, I know it means roughly, to the west to the edge of the world.” I agreed. “But what does that mean?”  
  
“It tells me where the Sword of Baphomet lies hidden.” Khan explained calmly. “Mr. Stobbart I am sure you are what you appear to be, a gifted amateur.”  
  
“Thanks I think?”  
  
“But there is far more at stake here than you realize, I cannot risk you inadvertently helping my enemies.” Khan’s expression became a stony mask. “We must end this here and now.”  
  
“What do you mean?” I asked worriedly.  
  
“I am a professional, you will feel no pain.”  
  
I froze. “Oh god, you’re gonna kill me.”  
  
He smiled lightly. “Your only choice now is if you want to die as a man, or a dog.”  
  
I tensed, neither sounded appealing.  
  
But I steeled myself, jaw firm, if I had to die, I’d rather do so with a straight back, no begging.  
  
“Okay, you’re the boss, I’ll take my medicine.” I said as solidly as I could.

“You are an honourable man, Mr. Stobbart, a very rare breed.” Khan said with a rather respectful tone. “I should like to shake you by the hand.”  
  
Suddenly I had my way out so I shrugged, hands in my pockets as I slid it on.  
  
“Well, what the heck.” I replied.  
  
I took Khan’s outstretched hand and he reacted in pain as the shake and shock buzzer zapped his palm. I took advantage of that and punched him squarely in the jaw. He fell to the ground and I turned and ran to the edge. I jumped just as I heard the gun go off, felt the heat of the bullet skim my hair and went into free fall until I broke through the soft top of Ultar’s truck, the canopy arresting my momentum enough that I didn’t hurt myself.  
  
“Drive Ultar!” I cried.  
  
As I did so, a second shot rang out from above and Ultar needed no further prompting, he floored it and the taxi sped off, as three more shots rang out. Thankfully they all missed and I breathed a sigh of relief. To his credit Ultar didn’t ask for an explanation, just continued to drive back to Marib like a madman. I quickly checked my pocket, the lens was still in one piece, everything had turned out alright, now I just had to get back to Paris to tell Nico what had happened.


	19. Picking Up The Trail

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**   
**Picking Up The Trail**

“Luckily, the canopy of Ultar’s truck broke my fall.” I finished telling my story to Nico.  
  
“Thank Goodness for that.” She sighed, relieved.  
  
I nodded and, determined to at least find some humour added. “The worst part of the experience was Ultar’s driving.”

Nico cracked a smile at that, then asked. “What about the lens, is it still in one piece?”  
  
“Oh yeah, right here.” I said, showing it to her.

“Well.” She said, looking from it to me. “It’s good to see you again, George.”  
  
“Yeah? Well, I must admit, I’d have enjoyed Syria more if you’d been there.” I replied honestly.  
  
“I wouldn’t have been much help.” Nico said with a shake of her head. “Besides, you did just fine on your own.”  
  
I shrugged. “Maybe, any thoughts what this lens could be used for?”  
  
“As a magnifying glass, obviously.” Nico replied. “There must be something involving a knight, going by the manuscript...”  
  
“Hmmm...” I mused. “I think I’m starting to see a pattern, let’s look at this again.”  
  
Nico nodded and we looked closer at the manuscript.  
  
I smiled lightly.  
  
“Okay, so we got the gem and tripod from the top left picture at Lochmarne...where I also found the clue pointing to Montfacon. Thanks to the gem and the tripod, we learned that the bull meant Bulls Head Hill near Marib in Syria...” I summarised. “So I think we’ve got that clue fully worked out...based on everything else we’ve gathered, the top right picture, somewhere famed for weaving and ships, has to be Spain...Andre got the clue from the knight with his coat of arms. But I’m thinking that’s Montfacon, something else I need to do there...maybe after I’ve been to Spain and seen what I can find there.”  
  
Nico nodded. “It all adds up, in fact, that might be a smart idea...I don’t think you’d get far in Montfacon without whatever is in Spain...the way this is filling out, we might need to visit these places in order...we still don’t know anything at all about the last image though.”  
  
“A reflection...” I mused, looking at it. “Wait a second, three hideous bearded faces, that’s the idol I saw in Syria. But what does it mean here?”  
  
“Until we find that place, maybe we’ll never know.”  
  
I sighed. “Maybe, so now what?”  
  
Nico shook her head. “I’ll keep following up what clues I can, I’ll see if Rosso or Andre can help with anything.”  
  
I agreed and after saying farewell I left the apartment.

Well, there was nothing else for it. I had another two leads to follow. But I had a feeling Nico was right and I’d need to check out Spain first, so with that in mind I headed to the airport, my next destination, Spain, specifically Costa Calida and the home of the de Vasconcellos family, they had some connection to the Templars, that much was obvious from the knight bearing their coat of arms, I just had to find out what.


	20. A Private Residence

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**A Private Residence**

I walked along the path, crossing the small stone bridge over what might have once been a full sized moat. Looking up at the large stone gate ahead of me I saw that same coat of arms over the gate and knew I’d found the right place. Smiling I walked inside and found myself in a large garden. Looking around I noticed the house, a large building that looked quite old, at least one part, that looked like a castle gatehouse, looked even older. In the distance I could see a building on its own, separate from the rest. There was an incredibly manicured lawn just to my right, standing by it, watering it with a hose was a crotchety looking old man, tall and skinny with short grey hair, black eyes and tanned skin clad in black overalls with a yellow T-shirt and black shoes. If this garden was all his own work, he was more capable than he looked. Seeing no one else I made my way over to him.

“Hi, is this the De Vasconcellos house?”

He turned the hose off and glared at me. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is George Stobbart and I-” I began to explain.

“The house is not open to the public.” He snapped.

I shook my head. “Please, all I want is to talk to the head of the household.”  
  
“There is no household.” The gardener remarked. “Only the Countess and myself.”  
  
I sighed, this wasn’t going quite how I expected.

Still, trying to keep it together I spoke up again.

“Tell me about the Countess De Vasconcellos?” I asked.

“She doesn’t receive guests, that’s all you need to know.” He told me sharply.

I shook my head. “You don’t even know what I want to talk to her about.”

“She hasn’t won the lottery has she?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes at that. “No, she hasn’t won the lottery.”

“A more cunning man might have claimed that she had.” He sneered.

“Oh, they might have, might they?”

He smiled and nodded. “And that more cunning man would have been removed from the premises, the Countess doesn’t do the lottery.”  
  
I guessed he at least appreciated my honesty, so I bid him farewell and began thinking, I needed to find a way to meet this Countess. Walking over to the building I had noted earlier, it looked really old, circular in shape, quite tall, I wondered if it was some sort of summerhouse. I noticed the sea stretching away from the estate from the edge of the land near the building. It was a beautiful sight and looked just like the scene in the manuscript, now I was certain I was in the right place. I needed to get inside for sure now. Returning to the main building, I looked around, not going in of course, until I saw the perfect way to get in. On the side of the house was a utility room with the hose running from the window to where the gardener was using it. I also remembered I still had the blood pressure gauge from the hospital.

I quickly took it out and wrapped it around the hose, inflating it to cut the hose off. I hurried back to the lawn just as the hose cut off. In a fury the gardener threw the hose down and turned to me, pointing to me accusingly.

“My hose has stopped.” He growled.

“Yeah?”

“Si, my hose never stops.” He complained.

I shrugged. “Well I’m sorry to hear that, it’s always sad when an old tradition comes to an end.”  
  
“Did you have anything to do with it.” He accused.

“Well I’m shocked, I’m mortified.” I replied, in as much outrage as I could. “How could you think such a thing?”  
  
He sneered. “Very easily senior, very easily. I’m going to find out why my hose has stopped, and that means going inside the house. You are not, absolutely not, to go in the house.”

With that he stalked off inside and I waited as long as I felt it would take before making my way towards the front door and, readying myself, I slipped in through the open front door.

The interior was rather opulent with many taxidermies in the shape of heads, a suit of armour, across from where I stood was the utility room where the gardener was trying to work out what was wrong with the hose. Just to the right of it was a staircase, a corridor down to the right led to two blue doors, where they led I had no idea. But I knew I couldn’t just go straight upstairs, I would surely get caught. I had to be careful about this and, deciding to check the other door first I approached, only to nearly leap back as suddenly the sound of frantic barking sounded from beyond it. Thinking quickly I hurried and hid behind the suit of armour.

“Hey you.” The gardener snapped. “I know you are there, American.”  
  
I didn’t move, hoping.

“Alright, you dogs, I’m coming.”  
  
With that I noticed him pass me and soon heard the door open and close and the dogs going quiet. This was my chance, I was sure of it. So I slipped out and hurried quietly up the stairs and heading for the first open room I found. It was a somewhat simple room, with nice decorations, a boar’s head over a fireplace with plenty of firewood next to it, on two walls were shields with Templar crosses on them and lances for jousting. In the middle was a table with a chess board on it, a game had clearly been in the middle of being played, on either side were chairs, one of them occupied.

The occupant was a tall thin elderly lady with iron grey hair in a bun, black eyes and clad in a long blue dress, I guessed this was the Countess de Vasconcellos. She stood up the moment I entered.

“Madre Dios, who are you?” She gasped.

“My name’s George Stobbart. I’m sorry to barge in like this.” I said quickly.

She shook her head. “You must leave at once, you are not wanted here.”

I protested desperately. “Please, if you’ll just listen a minute.”

“Very well.” She said, more composed. “State your business Senior Stobbart.”

I took a deep breath and explained. “There’s been a series of murders, part of some conspiracy...anyway the trail led me here.”  
  
“Here? There is nothing for the outside world here.”

“Over six hundred years ago there was.” I told her.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

I revealed. “This whole thing connects somehow, to the Knight’s Templar.”  
  
“The Knight’s Templar are dust.” She said, becoming suddenly frosty.

“I still believe they planted a clue here.” I told her.

“Why should I believe a complete stranger who barges into my home?”  
  
I pressed on. “Please, just let me look around, if I find nothing-”

“Then you’ll be spending the night at the police station.” She remarked firmly. “Very well, sit down.”  
  
With that she sat, gesturing to the opposite seat.

I sat down too, glad I at least had a chance.

“Okay, I know your family is involved with the Templars, but I don’t know how…”

The Countess shook her head. “You should be asking how my family WERE involved, Senior Stobbart. The Knight’s Templar ceased to exist centuries ago, as for the de Vasconcellos, a cursed family we’ve become ever since the Templar dissolution, the line dies with me.”

I grimaced at that. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be.”

Swallowing I continued. “So, what happened, happened almost six hundred years ago, so if the Templars left anything it’s going to be in stuff from that period.”  
  
“Obviously.” The Countess replied.

“So, what do you have around here that’s early medieval?” I asked.

“Early medieval…” She mused. “Well, the house is relatively modern, a scant three centuries old...oh yes, the chess set.”  
  
She gestured to it and I gaped.

“That chess set is over six hundred years old?” I choked out. “It must be worth a fortune.”  
  
“It is, not that I would part with it.” The Countess replied, allowing some pride to enter her voice.

“No of course not, that’s the sort of thing that gets handed down to your children.” I said, then realized what I said and cringed. “Sorry.”  
  
She merely shrugged. “It’s value is less than you might think, one of the pieces is a modern replacement, as for the original, it was lost a long time ago.”

“No one has any idea where it is?” I asked.

“No.” She replied. “Perhaps the children had it when they were taken.”  
  
“Children, what children?”  
  
She shook her head. “All in good time Senior Stobbart.”

Nodding I then asked. “Can I exam the chess set?”  
  
“Yes, but do not move any of the pieces.” She told me.

Nodding I went to do just that.

Close up the modern piece stuck out like a sore thumb, there was something else odd about the set, all of the original pieces had irregular bases, with strange patterns protruding from the bottom.

“My Lady, I have to warn you there’s a-”

I sprang up, turning around, the gardener had entered.

Seeing me he glared. “You, why, I’ll feed you to the dogs!”

“Lopez!” The Countess snapped. “What have I told you about feeding intruders to the dogs.”  
  
“But my lady…” He protested.

She shook her head. “Never without my permission.”  
  
I turned to face her nervously as she spoke again.  
  
“Senior Stobbart, if I find you have been wasting my time, you will be fed to the dogs.” She said calmly. “Now, follow me. I wish to show you something.”  
  
Confused I followed her, the gardener, Lopez, coming with us. We soon reached the building I had seen earlier and the Countess pointed to the door.

“Lopez, unlock the door, por favor.”  
  
Grumbling he went to do so as the Countess turned to me.

“This is the only remaining building on the estate contemporary with the Templars.” She explained.

“Nice.” I replied. “What is it, a summerhouse?”  
  
She pursed her lips. “A mausoleum, Senior Stobbart.”  
  
“Oh…”

Once again I’d put my foot in it, but at the Countess’ beckoning I went to follow her inside.

“Hey, Senior.” Lopez stopped me. “I do not know what you have told me lady to be shown these favors...but I do not trust you.”

I shook my head. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, aren’t you coming in?”  
  
“No, the dead do not interest me.” He shot back. “My garden is a living thing, I will be there.”  
  
With that he walked back to the garden as I entered the mausoleum.


	21. The Chalice

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**The Chalice**

I looked around the circular room, impressed.

“Wow, this is...old…” Was all I managed to say.

The circular room contained five marble tombs around the curved walls, a panel on the right wall offered the only decoration. Directly across from the door was an altar with unlit candles in candlesticks, a lectern with a bible on it, before it a small shrine to a statuette of the Virgin Mary. Next to it was a large pole with a hook on the end, while on a small circular metal object suspended by chains from the ceiling, far above was a large yellowed candle, really old and never lit. There were arched windows around the upper part of the building, the one above the shrine was open.

The Countess nodded. “It was constructed in the eleventh century as the final resting place of the de Vasconcellos Templars.”  
  
“It’s well maintained.” I noted.

“These are my ancestors, they deserve respect.” She explained. “I come here at least once a week to a say a prayer to them.”

I hesitated, before asking. “Mind if I look around?”  
  
“By all means.” She said.

I nodded, grateful and began to look around, wondering what, if anything, here could help me figure out this mystery.

I couldn’t very well take a close look at the candle given how high up it was and I wasn’t about to start messing with the coffins with the Countess standing there. With not much else available I made my way over to the lectern and closed the bible on it, taking it off and setting it aside. On top of the lectern was a pattern, I gasped as I realized, it was a chequerboard, or chessboard.

‘ _No way, this is…’_ I thought in amazement. _‘Wait a minute, is that…’_

The board was made of glass and had pieces of glass missing from the top, all of them in strange shapes, strange familiar shapes. I made up my mind, I needed to talk to the Countess, learn a few more things about this place and then see if I could get an explanation about what I was seeing, because I had a strong feeling I was looking the answer in the face. I made my way over to the Countess.

“Can I ask you something?”  
  
“You may ask.” She said calmly.

“Who exactly are these people?” I asked.

“My ancestors.” The Countess explained. “Each of these men served in the Templars.”

I smiled. “Five ancestors in the order, you must be proud.”  
  
The Countess sighed. “Not five, six.”  
  
“Where’s the sixth knight?” I asked.

“He was lost to us.”  
  
“You lost an ancestor?” I replied incredulously.

“Yes.” The Countess replied firmly. “A family matter, it is of no relevance.”

“Well it’s connected to the curse of the de Vasconcellos isn’t it?” I countered.

“Yes, but I hope you’ll approve my desire not to talk about it.” She told me with an edge on her voice.

Sensing this I nodded in agreement, leaving it for now.

Before I could ask anything else, the Countess suddenly asked.

“What’s your opinion of the Templars, Senior Stobbart?”

“Me?” I gasped, startled. “Well, they seem no worse than a lot of the Knightly Orders.”  
  
“You are mistaken.” She replied tersely. “Compared to the simpering politicians of the Hospitallers or the brutish Teutonics, the Knight’s Templar were the embodiment of chivalry. The filthy money grubbing French King and his pet pope committed a great wrong. A bane settled upon my family at the whim of that self seeking tyrant.”  
  
A little taken aback I replied, uncertainly. “It was a long time ago…”  
  
“Some things don’t die, injustice is one of them.” She replied, calmer.

Unable to help myself I asked. “Is the Virgin Mary really the right person to share a room with five knights?”  
  
“You are showing your ignorance, Senior Stobbart.” She replied, but calmly. “The Templars were dedicated to the Virgin Mary.”

Nodding I then asked. “That’s a big candle, where would you get something like that?”

The Countess shook her head. “You could not, it’s an antique from the time when the Moors controlled Spain. It was to be lit to warn the Villa is the Moors attacked.”  
  
I nodded, so far everything was proving interesting, but now, for the reason I started this talk, the pattern I had seen on the lectern.

I pointed over to it as I spoke.

“What’s the story with the glass chessboard?”  
  
Glass chessboard?” She queried then realized. “Ah, the pattern on the lectern, purely decorative I’m sure.”  
  
I shook my head. “There are pieces of glass missing from it.”

She shrugged. “It has been like that since I was a girl.”  
  
“The gaps in the chessboard seem awfully deliberate.” I told her.

Her eyes widened as she began to realize. “No, surely, what significance could it have…?”  
  
“It’s part of a chessboard, the gaps are for…” I explained.  
  
“Senior Stobbart, do you mean-?”  
  
I nodded, smiling. “This place was built for the Templars, your chess set is as old as the Templars...it’s kind of suggestive isn’t it?”  
  
Her eyes were wide. “I can hardly believe it…”  
  
“I think this is it, the manuscript that led me here, this is’ what it’s pointing to.” I said quickly.

Together we approached the lectern and she looked closely.

“So am I to understand that the Templars left a puzzle here?” She said breathlessly. “And in all this time we failed to realize there was a puzzle.”

She slapped her forehead and smiled widely, it was wonderful watching the Countess change before my eyes, all those years of fatalism were falling away from her.

“Right, well no time for wallowing in self-pity, eh, Senior Stobbart.” She said, her voice raising in excitement. “This mystery has had a good long run, but it ends here and now!”

With that she turned and walked over to the door.

“Lopez, Lopez put down that hose and listen!” She called out. “Go to my house and get the chess set, yes the old chess set. Oh damn the game, bring it and the pieces, hurry!”

With that she turned and joined me at the lectern again.

She was smiling widely, a look of hope shining in her eyes.

“My this is exciting is it not.” She said.

I grimaced. “Don’t get too excited, this could be a blind alley.”  
  
“Oh, I doubt that very much.” She said calmly.

“It’s good to see you happy.” I told her.

“Happy, you know, I think I am.”  
  
I paused for a moment before asking. “While we’re waiting, I was hoping you could tell me what happened, with the curse and the missing knight?”  
  
She nodded and revealed. “It all began with the dissolution of the Templars, Don Carlos had already left their ranks to become a scholar.”  
  
“Don Carlos?” I interrupted. “Is he the guy who went missing?”  
  
“Yes.” She confirmed. “But he reckoned without the local bishop. The bishop envied us our lands and was determined to use the papal edict as an excuse to destroy us. Don Carlos was on one of his scholarly journeys when the Inquisition arrived. When Don Carlos returned, it was to find his loyal manservant slain and his children gone.”  
  
I gasped in horror. “They took the kids, why?”

“We will never know, the bishop denied all knowledge of the affair.” The Countess explained. “But witnesses had seen his men kill the servant who was sworn to protect them.”

“What happened to Don Carlos?”

She sighed. “He swore to find his children if he had to ride to the ends of the Earth. He put on his armour and took up his sword and shield and rode out alone...he was never seen again.”  
  
Heavy silence followed the Countess’ tale.

It was then Lopez arrived.

“Ah Lopez, your brought the pieces?”

He nodded. “Si my lady, as you asked.”  
  
“Senior Stobbart, if you’d be so kind.” She then offered.

“My lady-” Lopez protested.

She shook her head. “Calm yourself Lopez, I believe Senior Stobbart’s intentions to be pure.”  
  
He grumbled. “Very well my lady.”  
  
I went over and took the chess set from him, as I did so he glared at me.

“My lady seems to trust you.” He hissed.

“But you don’t?”  
  
He glowered. “No Senior.”

With that she stomped out, going back to his garden while I returned to the lectern. Taking out the black king I found a slot with holes that matched the protrusions on the bottom of the piece and it slotted in.

“It fits, Senior Stobbart, it fits.” The Countess gasped excitedly.

We were onto something here, I could tell. I quickly got to work, putting the other pieces in place until only the middle row, which seemed to fit three white pieces, a knight, a bishop and the king, remained. I put them in place but nothing happened.

“I don’t get it, I thought-”

But the Countess realized something. “Senior Stobbart look, they are interchangeable...of course, it’s chess, you have to put the black king into check.”  
  
Realizing she was right I quickly rearranged the pieces to do just that and a loud click could be heard. We both turned to see the panel I had noticed earlier sliding back.

Behind it was some sort of silver chalice.

The Countess was wide-eyed. “Senior Stobbart, look…”  
  
“What is that?” I gasped, before shaking my head. “It’s not...not the Holy Grail, is it?”  
  
“No Senior Stobbart.” The Countess replied indulgently. “It is the communion chalice of the de Vasconcellos...missing for almost six hundred years.”  
  
“Wow…” I whispered, then, seeing she wasn’t moving, gently urged her. “Go on, take it.”  
  
“I...I can hardly believe it’s real…” She whispered too.

“Go ahead, live a little.”  
  
She looked at me. “Are you sure, this is your moment of triumph Senior Stobbart?”  
  
“Sure I’m sure.”  
  
With that she made her way over to pick up the chalice. I am ashamed to admit the possibility of death traps only occurred to me days later. I ended up leaving back for Paris with the chalice in my pocket, the Countess had entrusted it to me and asked me to find Don Carlos’ tomb. I was ready to agree, mainly since I had a strong feeling that the knight on the manuscript was in fact Don Carlos himself. Therefore I had to find him to get to the bottom of my current mystery.

* * *

Nico finished listening to my story.

“So the curse of the de Vasconcellos is lifted?”

I shook my head. “No, the Countess was thrilled to find the lost chalice, but there’s still the riddle of the missing knight.”  
  
“Well you can forget about that and deal with our current problem.” She stated.

“Uh actually. I promised the Countess I’d find Don Carlos for her.” I explained.  
  
“You what?”  
  
“I can explain everything.” I protested.

She scoffed. “You’ve got the hots for a withered old Spanish aristocrat?”  
  
“The Countess entrusted me with the chalice and the quest for her ancestors tomb.” I explained.

“You’re as crazy as she is.” Nico complained. “Don’t you have enough problems with Khan and the Templars?”

I pointed to the manuscript, to the knight. “It’s all part of the same thing, that’s Don Carlos, I’m sure of it. The manuscript is pointing us to the knight and I have to find him...likely at Montfaucon as I’m positive that’s where this clue is pointing.”  
  
Nico calmed down hearing that. “What then?”

“I don’t know, maybe when the knight and chalice are reunited I will and we still don’t know anything about the last image.” I replied honestly. “But there was a church at Montfaucon that I didn’t look at last time I was there...maybe I better check it out.”  
  
Nico sighed but nodded. “Okay, be careful George.”  
  
I smiled and agreed before leaving Nico’s apartment, heading for Montfacon again.


	22. The Lost Knight

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**   
**The Lost Knight**

Arriving at Montfaucon I found it deserted, except for someone I hadn’t expected to see, the drunk gendarme from before. I made my way over to him.

“You’re back?” I said, surprised.  
  
“Oui, I have returned.” He slurred.  
  
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you here again?” I remarked.  
  
He quirked an eyebrow. “No, well it’s a strange thing, but I’m here on duty.”  
  
“On duty?” I repeated. “But you’re just sitting there drinking wine?”  
  
He shook his head. “I am undercover.”  
  
“I must be missing something, you’re in uniform.”  
  
“Precisely.” He hiccuped. “My cover is that of an indolent wine guzzling officer.”  
  
I smirked. “You’ve got me convinced.”  
  
“Merci. But in reality I am poised, every muscle honed, ready to pounce, p-zang.” He replied.  
  
I shook my head. “Who or what are you hoping to p-zang on?”  
  
“You must have heard M’sieur, of the terror gripping the city?”  
  
Hope built in me at that. “You mean the murders, oh thank God, someone’s taking action.”  
  
But he just laughed. “Pah, people die every day, I am looking for Sewer Jacques.”  
  
“I uh...who?”  
  
“Sewer Jacques, the terror of the subterranean city.” The Gendarme explained.  
  
Okay, I was sure the old guy had lost it now.  
  
“Who is this Sewer Jacques character?” I asked.  
  
“Ah, if we knew that, we’d have him in custody in the hour.” The Gendarme replied. “But he is cunning, to despoil the sewers of our fair city, he has committed many deceptions. He has pretended to be a police inspector and deceived a poor war veteran.”  
  
“Uh oh…” I realized as I remembered my meeting with the old concierge.  
  
“He has pretended to be a Jongleur.”  
  
I now knew who Sewer Jacques was. “Boy is that the time…”  
  
“And an American tourist.” He paused then asked. “What nationality are you, M’sieur?”  
  
I quickly put on a fake accent. “Canadian, well, gotta go now, see ya.”  
  
I quickly walked away, well, it’s not everyone who can say they started an urban myth.  
  
I approached the church, a rather large and very old building, I headed up the stone steps and into the building itself, inside was magnificent, down a long hallway like area I could see the pews, beautifully carved and glowing with polish and as I approached them I found myself in a large room with a high ceiling, a few tombs and effigies were present along with an altar, three large windows, the middle one stained glass, allowed the sunlight from outside into the church. There was also a statue near the pews, I also spotted a priest, a thin balding man with grey hair and eyes, energetically polishing a candlestick, standing by the pews. I decided to see if he could help me.  
  
“Um, excuse me, father?” I asked as I approached him.  
  
He turned to face me. “Pardon?”  
  
“I was wondering if you mind answers a few questions?”  
  
“Not at all, M’sieur.” He replied with a smile. “It’ll be my pleasure to help you.”  
  
I nodded and asked. “what do you know about the Knights Templar?”  
  
“You have come to the right place if that’s your interest, many were executed in the square just outside, a disgrace to France.” He replied.  
  
“But the pope was right behind it, wasn’t he?” I queried.  
  
The priest shrugged. “Clement V was a man of mammon, not of God.”  
  
“That’s rather...forthright for a priest, isn’t it?” I wondered.  
  
“You think so?” He asked. “It’s hard to be sure of any of it, it happened so long ago.”  
  
“So how long have you worked here?”  
  
“Hardly work M’sieur, this a calling. I have been helping Father Flambert for six months now.” He answered.  
  
I nodded slowly. “So, you don’t know the full history of this church?”  
  
“Just a little.” He admitted.  
  
I nodded and began to think what else to say.  
  
I looked up at the stained glass windows at that moment and smiled.  
  
“You must be proud to have a fine collection of windows.”  
  
He shook his head. “Pride is a sin M’sieur, but it is hard not to marvel how the light shines through them, a fine example of the artisans genius.”  
  
I nodded at that, what he said made sense.  
  
“Wow, that’s quite a shine you’ve got on that candlestick.” I noticed.  
  
“Ah Oui.” He replied. “Anything less would be an insult to the Almighty.”  
  
“Yeah…” I said. “I never thought of it that way before.”  
  
Then I had an idea, it may have been tarnished, but he knew enough about this place to know the Templar connection, maybe he could help.  
  
“What do you think of this?” I asked, pulling the chalice out of my pocket.  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “It certainly looked very old…”  
  
“About as old as this church I think.”  
  
“There, appears to be an engraving on it.” He noticed.  
  
“Yeah?” I asked. “What’s it say?”  
  
He shook his head. “I don’t know, it’s very tarnished, with your permission I could try polishing it, I promise to be very careful.”  
  
“That would be really good of you.” I said with a smile.  
  
He gently took the chalice from me. “This shouldn’t take too long, feel free to look around.”  
  
I thanked him and let him get to work as I considered what to look at first.  
  
In the end, I observed the two tombs by the wall briefly, took in the sight of the stained glass window, noting that the right most window seemed more modern than the others. The effigies were impressive and so too was the statue which I examined carefully.  
  
 _‘Wait a minute...a statue of a knight with a staff and a scroll…’_ I realized. _‘A scroll is a symbol of scholarship, I know that much...a scholarly knight, that rings a bell, a very Spanish bell.’_  
  
I was certain now, this was a statue of Don Carlos, just like on the manuscript, there had to be something here. I noticed quickly that the scroll was hollow, I could see through it and it was pointed at the stained glass window. But the merest glance through it told me it was nothing but a small view of the window. But I remembered the manuscript and knew right away what was missing. I carefully removed the lens from my pocket and slid it onto the end of the scroll, fitting it perfectly like a glove. I made my way around to peer through the scroll again and gasped.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
The refractions of the lens had altered the view of the glass, causing the regular image to warp to show a Knight Templar burning at the stake, presumably Jacques de Molay, and below him a date in Roman numerals.  
  
I mused on what I could see. _‘Let’s see, MCCCXIV. That’s...thirteen-fourteen.’_  
  
I straightened up, smiling, I was sure I’d found what I needed to find here. So I turned and went back to the priest.  
  
Looking up he smiled and handed the chalice back over, I was beyond impressed, it was hard to believe it was the same chalice, now the light gleamed off it’s perfect surface.  
  
“Thanks.” I said, pocketing it. “What was the writing on the chalice?”  
  
He shook his head. “It wasn’t writing, my mistake, it was a coat of arms. The strange thing is, I’ve seen it before.”  
  
“You have?”  
  
“Yes, that tomb in the corner over there.” He explained, pointing. “That winged horse is very distinctive.”  
  
That instantly caught my attention. Bidding farewell to the priest, I made my way to the tomb and examined it more closely. Now that my attention had been drawn to it, there was no mistake, there was no name on it but the crest was undoubtedly the Pegasus of the de Vasconcellos family. I’d found the last resting place of Don Carlos de Vasconcellos.  
  
 _‘Wait a minute, what’s this, biblical references...these might be important, let’s see.’_ I mused. _‘Psalms 32 7. John 4 11. Corinthians 4 5...and...one more, Psalms 22 21.’_  
  
I made sure to take note of this and remember them, in that order, I’m sure it was important. Now the chalice had led me to these inscriptions, but it just seemed like a happy coincidence to me. After all, the knight’s coat of arms was already on the manuscript. I was sure the chalice still had a purpose. But these references and the fact I’d found the tomb convinced me, I still had work to do in Spain. But I still had to figure out what the last image of the manuscript meant. Something to do with a woman looking in a woman with a reflection of three hideous faces. Like the idol I’d seen in Syria. There had to be a connection.

But with no current leads and since I didn’t want to return to Nico with just this I decided to see if Andre Lobineau could help me out. So I made my way to the Crune Museum at once. Entering the museum and seeing him in his usual place I walked over.  
  
“Hi Andre.”  
  
He turned to me, smiling. “Hello Georgie. Where have you been, Nicole said you were away?”  
  
“Well, I followed up on what you found about Spain and I also was in Syria.” I explained.  
  
“Syria?” He queried. “On the trail of the Templars?”  
  
I nodded. “Yeah, I found the Bulls Head, it was on the manuscript remember.”  
  
“Oui, what was it?”  
  
“A secret cave hidden in the side of a large hill; inside was a map with a Latin inscription. In occidenta sita est, in ora mundi.”  
  
“The isle of Britain-” Andre mused.  
  
I shook my head at that, but finished. “Lies to the west, to the edge of the world.”  
  
“Interesting.” Andre muttered. “That manuscript seems to contain a series of pointers.”  
  
“Like I said, it’s a treasure map.” I replied.  
  
He merely smirked.  
  
Meanwhile I decided to explain. “While I was in Syria I saw a strange pagan statue, it was a large bearded head with three faces, horrible.”  
  
“That sounds as if it could be Baphomet. The idol described by the Templars.” Andre said seriously.  
  
I was startled by that. “The poor Knights of Christ had an idol that looked like that?”  
  
“Allegedly.” Andre admitted. “Mind you, no idol was ever found on Templar property, until now that is. A group of workmen were renovating the Institut Hermétique de Nerval. They found just such a statue beneath the foundations, a fearsome image even now, with Templar symbols around the base. One of the workmen even noticed a curious stain at the base of the statue, he claimed it looked like blood.”  
  
“Blood?”  
  
“That’s it.” Andre said.  
  
I thanked him and left, I now had my next destination, this had to be the last part of the manuscript, I was sure of it, so I headed right away to the Institut Hermétique de Nerval.


	23. Finding The Demon

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Finding The Demon**

Arriving at my destination I took note of the large building, held behind a wrought iron fence, the entrance, denoted by a large stone archway between two sections of fence was blocked off by a construction barrier, leaning against it was a worker, dark brown hair and eyes, clad in shabby work clothes, spattered with paint, hanging from the barrier next to him was a paint tin and behind that a dumpster full of debris. To the right, looking at the building, there was a gate in the wrought iron fence that led down a flight of stairs, I guessed to the basement of the building where the excavation was located. But first I had to be sure of what was going on here.

“Hi, excuse me.” I greeted the painter.

He was lounging on the barrier, smoking and looking as if his cigarette break was more important than his painting. He straightened up and looked at me reproachfully.

“What is it?” He asked tersely.

Suddenly realizing I hadn’t seen him since Syria I pulled the photograph out.

“Have you seen this man around?”  
  
To my horror he nodded. “Yes, he was asking a lot of questions, just like you.”  
  
Oh that was not good, now I had to be even more careful.

I then asked. “So, what are you doing?”  
  
“I’m having my break.” He replied.

“Yeah, I meant when you’ve finished your break.”  
  
“When I finish my break?” He remarked incredulously. “An interesting concept M’sieur.”

I quirked an eyebrow at that. “You’ll probably need to think about it.”  
  
“I could have another cigarette while I consider, maybe tomorrow too.” He said satisfied.

I was forming a very good opinion of this man already.

Shaking my head I quipped.

“You’re doing a fine job.”  
  
“Merci, I have my professional pride.” The painter replied.

I notched it up a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gauloise smoked so stylishly.”

“It’s a natural talent.”

I sighed. “I’m being sarcastic.”  
  
He shrugged. “I’m being indifferent.”

“You’re very good at that too.” I noted.

“Merci.” He said with a smile. “Vive l’indiffernce.”

Finally I decided to just get down to the details.

“Okay let me put things differently, what were you hired to do here?”

He replied calmly. “I was hired to keep the archaeological dig in the basement of this building free from debris and to touch up damage to the door frames with my little pot of paint. It’s a very responsible job, unfortunately, I’m not a very responsible person.”

“What can you tell me about the excavation?” I asked.

“I know they won’t let me in to do my job.” He said. “I would have complained to my union but alas…”

“You couldn’t be bothered to join.” I guessed.

“Right.” He confirmed before looking thoughtful. “I’ll tell you what though...I’m surprised at the kind of people interested in this excavation.”

“How come?”

He shrugged. “None of them look like archaeologists to me.”

I queried that. “Do you know what an archaeologist looks like?”

“Three piece suits, crocodile hide attaché cases, Rolex watches.”

I shook my head. “No archaeologist dresses like that.”  
  
“Quite right M’sieur, quite right.” He replied, revealing that he was in fact describing the people he had seen interested in the excavation.

“So who are they?” I wondered.

“Who cares so long as they pay me.” The man replied.

I left it at that and made my way to the stairs and headed down, wondering about what had been revealed.

The room was dimly lit, square and made of brick with a stone floor, directly opposite the stairs was a small utility closet which had lost its door and was being used as a storeroom for the dig. Diagonally to my right was another door, unmarked but I guessed it led to the excavation, based on the dark haired, dark eyes red uniform clad guard standing outside, he looked pretty pompous, well, not so much pretty, just pompous. Directly across from that door was another one and on the far wall was a thermostat above a radiator and on the right hand wall was a phone. Looking around I noted that the thermostat was cracked up to full, making the radiator blast out heat, no wonder it was so warm in here, even with the door open to the chill of fall. The last door I had noted had the word toilet scratched into the cheap veneer.

Seeing me standing by it the guard spoke up. “That door’s locked M’sieur.”

His voice was rather high pitched and matched the pomposity of his appearance. I turned and walked over to him.

“Um, pardon me.”

“Oui?”

I decided to be calm and conversational. “So, what are you doing here?”  
  
“I’m guarding.” He replied. “You expect to find me shearing sheep?”

I raised my hands. “Whoa, take it easy, I just, didn’t realize you were a guard. I’d like to know what you’re guarding.”  
  
“That’s a secret.”  
  
I smirked. “It wouldn’t happen to be an archaeological site, would it?”  
  
“Are you asking me or telling me.” He fired back.

“I’m telling you.”  
  
He shook his head. “Then why ask?”  
  
I had a feeling this was no normal hole in the ground, he was being amazingly evasive, I’d need more than just goodwill to get past him.

So I decided to see if there was anything I could find in the only other room here. Still, trying to get into a locked wash room, I had the strongest feeling of deja vu.

“I need to use the wash room but it’s locked.”

He pulled a key ring from his belt. “No problem, you can have the key.”  
  
I thanked him and took the keys, noting a gunmetal grey key on the ring as well, no doubt the key to the excavation, this might be just what I needed. I quickly walked over and unlocked the bathroom before entering and closing the door behind me. I froze in horror, this was the polar opposite of the toilet in Syria, it was filthy, a huge pile of coal for an old and very hot boiler took up easily half the room, the toilet and trash can were filthy, the trash can almost overflowing. Turning around I saw an automatic hand dryer and a dirty sink with rusty taps and, of all things, dirty soap. I looked down at the keys, I obviously couldn’t just take the key off the key ring without the guard getting suspicious. But then I remembered I still had some of the plaster of Paris I had picked up in Ireland, I could use it to make a copy of the key. I walked over and, grimacing, I picked up the bar of soap and removed the excavation key from the key ring, pressing it into the soap and carefully removing it, leaving an imprint in the soap. I then fixed the key ring and filled the imprint with plaster and then turned on the tap and soaked the plaster before using the dryer to speed up the process. I then discarded the soap and pocketed my sadly unconvincing plaster key, way too fragile to use in the lock, I’d have to substitute it for the real one. Trouble was it felt and looked like plaster, not metal, then again, that plaster statue in Syria hadn’t looked like aged marble until I had been artful with it, maybe I could improve on the key as well.

Exiting the toilet I returned the keys to the card and commented.

“Boy it sure is warm in here.”  
  
He shrugged. “I have to leave the door open to allow the workmen access so why not? I turned the heat up.”  
  
“You could wrap up warm.” I suggested.

“I have my gloves if it gets cold.” He revealed. “But why bother when it’s warm already.”

Gloves, that would come in handy, if I could find a way to lower the heat enough for him to put his gloves on he wouldn’t be able to feel the key. So now I just needed to grab my chance at that and also to find a way to make the key look real. Another brainwave hit me, I just hoped it was the right colour. I made my way upstairs and approached the paint pot hanging from the barrier, to my relief it was gunmetal grey, just the colour I needed.

“Hey, M’sieur!” The painter suddenly yelled. “Get away from my paint pot.”  
  
“Okay.”

He glowered. “I should think so, meddling with a man’s paint pot, pah.”

Okay, so this was going to be more difficult than I thought. I needed to get him out of the way, luckily a scheme began forming in my mind and I slipped back down into the basement.

Once down I crept over to the thermostat and turned it down low and then made my way over to the phone.

“Do you mind if I use the phone?” I asked.

“Be my guest.” The guard said, blowing on his hands. “I’m paid to guard the door, the phone can look after itself.”

With that he pulled his gloves on, just as I hoped. Smiling I turned to the phone and called Nico.

“Bonjour, Collard?”  
  
“Hi Nico, it’s me.” I said.

Her tone brightened. “Hi George, what’s happening?”  
  
“It’s kinda a long story.” I said, keeping my voice low enough so the guard wouldn’t hear. “I managed to solve the puzzle at Montfaucon and Andre pointed me to a location that might be for that fourth puzzle. I’ll explain all the details when I get back. Right now I’m at an excavation site but I can’t get in.”

“Ah, damn…” Nico whispered. “Okay, is there anything I can do to help?”  
  
I quickly explained. “Yeah, I’ve got a scheme, I need to keep someone on the phone for a while.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“A painter. I need to get at his pot.” I told her.

“Oh, okay…” She replied.

“Stay on the line.” I said. “I’ll go get him.”  
  
She agreed and so I headed back up outside, heading straight to the painter.

“Hey you, you’ve got a phone call.” I said.

He straightened up. “For me, you’re certain?”

“It’s a woman.” I said with a grin. “She sounded hot.”

“What woman, you must be mistaken M’sieur?” He gasped.

“I’m sure I’m not.” I replied. “She asked for that hunk of a man with the nicotine fingers and ass hanging out of his pants.”

“Certainly sounds like me.” He said with a smirk, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “Stand back, it wouldn’t do to keep a lady from her hunk.”

With that he went and made his way down the stairs, just as I hoped.

With a clear field I took out the plaster key and dipped it in the paint and waited, before long the plaster absorbed the paint and now looked the part. Pocketing it again I made my way downstairs, now as my chance.

“Well M’sieur. What a strange woman.” The painter said as he hung up the phone. “One minute she was all over me, the next, nothing but abuse.”  
  
“Really?”

“Oui, abuse.” He shrugged. “Ah well, I have a cigarette to finish, oh and if she calls again, I’m not available.”  
  
With that he stomped away back upstairs. It took a little deception but I managed to convince the guard to give me the keys again, pretending I had a little, problem. Once in the filthy wash room I quickly swapped the keys and made my way back out to the guard.

“Here’s the keys, thanks.” I said, handing them back, praying.  
  
“Merci M’sieur.”

He took them and put them in his pocket without blinking. I now had the excavation key, I just needed to get inside. I quickly went to the phone and dialled Nico’s number again.

“Hey Nico, it’s me.”  
  
“I guessed.” She replied. “What do you want this time?”

“What did you say to the painter?” I asked.

“I shan’t repeat it George.” She remarked dryly.

“Okay, I need to get the guard out of the way.” I replied. “Can you call back and ask him to get the painter again?”  
  
“Okay, I’ll call back soon.” She confirmed.

With that I hung up and waited by the stairs, watching as the phone rang and the guard answered. I then made my way up to street level and watched as things developed. Soon the guard and painter were arguing so much it was easy for me to just walk down, go over to the door and unlock it, then go into the excavation, all without being noticed.

The room was mostly filled with rubble, but there were traces of the work that had been done, such as the wooden catwalk I now stood on. Seeing a small ladder I climbed down onto the floor properly and sure enough there it was, the same idol I’d seen in Syria, Baphomet. The Templars had certainly been through here. At the base of the statue was a small raised section and fanning out around it, like an axis point, some sort of swirling mosaic of red, that didn’t make any sort of sense. I racked my brains, trying to think, then I remembered the manuscript, the woman, the three faces the mirror. I needed something curved and reflective...like the polished chalice. I pulled it out and set it on the stand and there it was, decoded by the curse of the chalice, the image of a church with a square tower.


	24. The Pieces Fit

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**The Pieces Fit**

“I’ve found out what the Chalice was for.” I explained to Nico as I sat down.

“You solved the puzzle?” She gasped.

I nodded. “Best go through all of it. Okay, so I was at Montfaucon and checked out the church there. The chalice as you recall was pretty messed up, a priest there was able to clean it up. While he did so I checked out the church and found the statue of the knight with the scroll from the manuscript and used the lens on the scroll he was holding. When I looked through it at a stained glass window it changed the image. It showed a Templar being burnt at the stake and the date thirteen-fourteen.”  
  
“Thirteen-fourteen? That’s two years after the Templars were dissolved, when Jacques de Molay was executed.” Nico remarked.

I nodded. “Yeah...after that I got the chalice back and the priest pointed me to a tomb with the same coat of arms. The tomb of Don Carlos de Vasconcellos.”

Nico gasped again and I nodded.

“Yup, I found it.” I explained. “It turns out that there’s another clue there. Biblical references on his tomb...I guess it’s pointing me back to Spain. Well I needed to take the Chalice back anyway.”  
  
Nico smiled. “Yeah, true. The trail is leading us back there. What did you think at the excavation?”

“That’s where the chalice came in.” I told her. “Once I managed to get inside, thanks to your help.”  
  
I sent her a warm smile as I said that and she smiled deeper.

“Once I was inside I saw the same type of idol I saw in Syria. There was a strange arc shaped pattern there, when I set the chalice before it, as a reflection.” I pointed to the last picture on the manuscript. “The image changed.”  
  
Nico looked amazed and I couldn’t blame her, we had deciphered the whole manuscript.

Nico then asked.

“What did it show?”  
  
“An image of a church with a square tower.” I told her.

Nico nodded slowly and we considered.

“So, what do we have so far?” I wondered. “Those two new clues, plus the one from Syria with the map and the inscription.”

Nico summed up. “A church with a square tower around thirteen-fourteen on the Isle of Britain it seems...it’s narrowed it down but not exact.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, we need to narrow it down further, an exact church like that…”

“Well, maybe this clue leading us back to Spain will help, maybe it’s the last clue we need.” She replied.

“I agree, so, guess I better go and return the chalice to the Countess.” I told Nico.

She nodded. “Hurry back George.”  
  
With that I stood up and left, heading once more to the airport and to Spain, to Costa Calida and the Villa de Vasconcellos. Hoping to find what I hoped would be the last clue to lead us to the Sword of Baphomet.


	25. Return to Sunny Skies

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Return to Sunny Skies**

Crossing the familiar bridge, going under the familiar arch I stopped for a moment, smiling and taking in the lovely view, taking a deep breath, savouring the Spanish sun. I’d been meaning to return the chalice but I hadn’t expected the trail to lead me back here like it had. The Villa de Vasconcellos was as picturesque as ever, the sun was shining, the birds were singing...And Lopez was still watering the damn lawn, I was beginning to think he was surgically attached to that hose.

Approaching him I greeted him, friendly. “Hi there Lopez, how’s tricks?”

Turning off the hose he turned to me, smiling. “Senior Stobbart, how pleasant to see you, you are well?”  
  
“Fine thanks, is the Countess in?” I asked.

“She is upstairs, waiting.” Lopez explained. “I will show you up.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay, I know the way.”

“Senior Stobbart. I feel I owe you...an apology.”

I was startled by this.” No you don’t.”

“I was impolite on our first meeting.” Lopez explained.

“Look, Lopez, forget it.” I reassured him. “I came on like a snake oil merchant, I wouldn’t have trusted me in your shoes.”

“You do not understand, finding the Chalice has given my lady a new lease of life.” Lopez told me. “It’s a marvel, she smiles, she laughs, the tradesmen are saying she is on Prozac.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

It was good to hear the Countess was happy now.

“So, the Countess feels the curse has been lifted?” I asked.

Lopez shook his head. “I would not put it so strongly, your discovery of the chalice proves the Templars never abandoned the de Vasconcellos, that counts for a great deal to my lady.”

I had to admit, I was curious. “What’s the story behind the chalice vanishing?”  
  
“When the Inquisition raided it was assumed they had taken it along with the children.” Lopez told me. “Naturally they denied and naturally nobody believe them.”

“But they were telling the truth, the chalice was hidden from them.” I realized. “You don’t suppose they were telling the truth about the children as well do you?”

“Madre Dios, I hadn’t thought of that, but then, what happened to them?” Lopez gasped.

“I don’t know, if the Inquisition didn’t take them, who did?” I wondered aloud.

Lopez looked at me seriously. “You must speak to my lady about this.”  
  
“Count on it.”

With that Lopez went back to watering the garden and I headed inside the house. I paused briefly as I considered, looking in Lopez’s utility room. There was a small mirror hanging over the sink, like the roller towel from the club Alamut I couldn’t help but feel that this would be useful later, even if it didn’t seem like it now. So I made my way over and took it down, placing it carefully in one of my pockets and then made my way upstairs to the room the Countess was in.

Seeing me she stood up, smiling.

“Senior Stobbart, what a pleasure, please, sit down.”

I smiled back. “Hi Countess, the pleasure’s all mine, I brought back the chalice.”

I walked over and placed it on the mantelpiece before joining the Countess at the table, sitting down.

“My, you’ve had it cleaned.” She noted.

“Yeah, I met an obliging priest with a soft cloth.” I told her. “Oh, while I was there, I found something, the priest recognized the coat of arms on the chalice and pointed me to a tomb in the church. I’ve found the tomb of Don Carlos.”  
  
“You are sure, there can be no mistake?” She asked.

“The coat of arms on the tomb and the chalice match.” I confirmed.

Her smile widened. “You have my sincerest gratitude, I must go and see sometime.”

“Well, I’d be happy to show you the city.” I volunteered before remembering something else. “When I saw the tomb there was something else carved on it, biblical references.”  
  
“What were they?”

“Psalms 32 7…” I began.

The Countess interrupted. “I am not a good enough scholar to know the bible chapter and verse, I meant, what are the quotations.”  
  
I grimaced. “You know, I forgot to ask the priest...well, I’ll think of some way, you don’t mind if I look around?”

“By all means.” She said. “Be my guest.”  
  
I thanked her and stood up.

“Oh, there’s still the riddle of the missing chess piece.” I noted.

“I don’t think it will ever be found.” The Countess remarked. “Unless the fate of the children is discovered.”

“The Inquisition admitted killing Don Carlos’ manservant, this guy had been sworn to protect the kids at all costs…” I mused. “I think he hid them and the chalice when he heard the Inquisition was coming, with him dead and Don Carlos driven mad with grief...there was no one left to know the secret. You know what this means don’t you?”

“I fear so, the children are still here somewhere.” The Countess realized. “If what you say is true, it is small wonder the de Vasconcellos are cursed.”

Turning things over in my mind I left the house and, considering for a moment, made my way over to the mausoleum.

Entering the mausoleum I noted that the candles on the altar were lit and the bible back in place. I realized right away I had a chance so I went and pocketed the bible. But then I noticed something, there seemed to be something, just barely visible in the candle hanging from the ceiling. It took a moment, considering all the variables, but I finally managed to come up with a plan, I just hoped this wouldn’t take too long. Using the rod by the altar I closed the window, then I attached the greasepaint smeared tissue to the end of it and lit it on one of the altar candles. Lifting it up to it’s full height I lit the candle hanging from the ceiling and then blew out the burning tissue and returned the charred remains to my pocket. As I watched the candle burned brightly and brilliantly, but only for a few moments. Some kind of special formulation I guessed. When it went out a rough cut stone shape, almost like some sort of key, fell out and I quickly caught it, once again, I just knew this was going to be useful. Pocketing it I made my way back to the house to see the Countess.

Entering the room I sat down.

“Here, I got the bible from the mausoleum.” I told her.

I handed it over and she opened it. “Very well, let us begin, the first reference?”

“Psalms 32 7.”

She turned to the right page. “Thou art my hiding place, thou shalt protect me from danger and surround me with songs of deliverance. My hiding place?”  
  
“Let’s not get our hopes up, this could just be leading us to where we found the chalice.” I warned. “Next one is John 4 11.”  
  
She turned a few pages. “The well is deep...the next, quickly?”  
  
“Okay, uh...Corinthians 4 5.”

“Will bring to light the hidden things. “She read. “Any more?”

“Just one.” I confirmed. “Psalms again, 22 21.”

She turned and read. “Save me from the lion’s mouth, for thou hast heard me from the horns of the unicorns.”

She closed the bible and put it down. “The last is confusing, horns, unicorns, what does it mean?”

“I couldn’t guess...salient points seem to be a hiding place in a deep well somewhere...with light being key to something hidden.”

“In no sense is the mausoleum a well, Senior Stobbart.” The Countess remarked.

I agreed. “Was there ever a well on the grounds?”

“I cannot be sure.” She admitted. “Lopez is the man to ask for any questions pertaining to the estate.”

I thanked her and stood up, heading back out, ready to seek Lopez’s help.

I quickly got his attention and then asked.

“Do you know if there’s a well in the grounds somewhere?”

“A well, si senior.” Lopez replied. “This is a fortified villa, how can you last a siege without water?”  
  
“Great, so where is it?”

He shook his head. “How should I know, it has been lost before even my grandfather’s time, covered up as it was dangerous.”

“You must have some idea where it is?” I asked.

Lopez thought. “There might be a way, for generations the Spanish country folk had a way of detecting water, even when deep underground.”  
  
I bit my lip, sceptical. “You’re not talking about, water dowsing are you?”

He seemed confused so I explained it and he confirmed that he was indeed talking about it. Deciding to give it a shot I walked over to the hazel tree he pointed too, I needed a specific stick, a Y shaped stick of hazel. But the tree didn’t have a single one. Not willing to give up yet I searched the estate until I found another tree and finally found what I was looking for. After some instruction from Lopez I began the lengthy search looking for the well until finally, far at the back of the garden, the stick began to twitch and I called Lopez over.

He hurried over and knelt down, digging at the spot where the stick had twitched.

“Senior Stobbart.” He cried, excitedly. “You have found something…”

“This is it, this is where we find the secret of the Templars.” I commented excitedly. “Hidden here for hundreds of years, lost from the sight of man until now, the mystery is revealed.”

Then Lopez deflated the moment. “It’s a tin can.

“I’ve been walking up and down with a twig in my hands, looking for a TIN CAN?” I cried incredulously.

“It had water in it.” Lopez pointed out. “That must be what the dowsing stick detected.”

“I’d have to check with an archaeologist but I don’t think the Templars left that.”

Lopez shook his head. “In truth Senior, this lawn was laid many years ago, this can could date back to the Napoleonic wars.”

“Get rid of it and I’ll try again.” I insisted.

Lopez threw the can away over his shoulder, it seemed to fall an awfully long way. Until the splash at the end confirmed what we both suspected. We turned and pulled back the bush to reveal the well.

“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” I gasped.

“It has been here all this time, and nobody found it.” Lopez whispered.

We stood in awe for a moment, marvelling at the mysteries all around us.

Then Lopez killed the mood, grousing. “I could’ve fallen down that.”

Shaking my head we hurried to fetch a rope to see what we could find down there.


	26. The Horrible Truth

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**The Horrible Truth**

With Lopez holding the other end of the rope to secure it I began to rappel down into the well, finally stopping and catching my balance as I stood on an edge of worn stone. It was a creepy atmosphere, even with the sun shining almost directly down the shaft I still couldn’t see the bottom, turning to get a good look of edge I was on I found it went in an arc towards the other end, with part of the wall to the left having caved in. At the end of the pathway was a large stone lion’s head. Fighting back the urge to shiver I made my way around the edge until I was close up to the lion’s head, from a distance impressive, close up, frightening. Then I realized on the of the fangs was a separate piece and remembered the bible verse, save me from the lion’s mouth, seemed pretty relevant now. I took hold of the fang and pulled, then heard the sound of a lot of stone moving and knew I was in danger. Acting quickly I leapt back, landing on my front with a grunt, as the lion’s head fell forwards and smashed off the floor, had I not jumped back it would have crushed me. Getting to my feet I couldn’t help but laugh at the trap.

“Oh very funny you psychos.” I mocked the Templars.

“SENIOR STOBBART, SENIOR STOBBART!” Lopez cried. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

I turned and called back. “IT’S OKAY LOPEZ, I’M FINE!”  
  
“QUE SUSTO ME HAS DADA! YOU GAVE ME A SCARE!” He yelled.

‘ _Nice try Templars.’_ I thought to myself.

I then turned back to where the lion’s head had been and frowned.

I approached and began feeling along the wall, it was too dark to see so I had to rely on touch, but it just felt like a pitted stone wall, I’d almost been killed for the sake of a red herring. Until I remembered the bible verses again. I needed some sort of light and that stone key I’d found, it did look, roughly, like a unicorn’s horn. Looking back at the light shining down the well shaft I realized my chance and made my way back to where I had landed with the rope. I took out the mirror I had taken from Lopez’s utility room and used it to reflect the light along the wall where the lion’s head had been and there I saw it, in the middle of the wall, some kind of socket. I hurried back over and, now that I knew what I was looking for, it only took moments to find it. A worked socket as smooth and perfect as if it had been carved only yesterday. Taking out the key I slid it in and with a click the wall opened up, revealing a secret passage. I carefully entered and was greeted by the cobweb covered pathetic skeletal remains of the children, holding each other, one still clutching the missing chess piece, they’d clearly died of starvation or dehydration. On the wall next to me I noticed a tapestry, it showed a large chessboard with with white pieces vastly outnumbered, there was a stream rushing across the board and also a Knight Templar on a horse. I’d found the clue I came for.

Before I left however, there was one last thing to do. Entering the room where the Countess sat I approached the chessboard.

“You won’t be needing that replacement piece anymore Countess.” I told her softly.

I then set the proper piece, retrieved from the hidden vault, on the chessboard. The Countess covered her mouth, gasping.

“I found it with the children.” I told her. “You’ll probably want to be alone for a while, I’ll be in the garden with Lopez.”

With that I quietly left and remained with Lopez until the Countess emerged and arrangements were made to have the children’s bodies removed from the chamber in the well so they could be given a proper burial. I just hoped that this would lift the de Vasconcellos curse as I left Spain, once more heading to Paris. We had all the clues, we just needed to put them together.

* * *

I entered Rue Jarry seeing Nico again at her desk. But there was someone else there, unwelcome in my view, seated at the sofa.

“George, welcome back.” Andre said jovially.

I glowered, not too pleased to see him, given everything I now knew about his and Nico’s past together and his obvious affection for her. Despite agreeing to make things just business I had to admit I had fallen for Nico, so yes, I was jealous of Andre.

“Come in George.” Nico greeted me with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Is it.” I muttered.

“Sure.” Andre said. “What did you find in Spain?”

I hesitated but then Nico spoke up.

“Without Andre we wouldn’t have got this far George.” She reminded me.

“Yeah, I know.”

So I walked to the other chair at the desk and sat down.

“The Templars had left a tapestry behind, it showed a chessboard, the white pieces were vastly outnumbered, there was a stream across the board and a Knight Templar on a horse.” I explained.

“Does that mean anything to you Andre?” Nico asked.

He shook his head. “No, nothing.”

She turned back to me. “We should tell him what else we’ve found.”

I nodded and prepared myself to begin.

I went through them in order.

“There’s a map and a Latin inscription, In ocidenta sita est, in ora mundi.”

“George found that in a cave in Syria.” Nico added.

I nodded. “Yeah, where the assassin almost killed me.”

“Then we have the burning of Jacques de Molay and the date thirteen-fourteen.” Nico explained.

“From the window of the church in Montfacon square.” I confirmed. “One of the few places where nobody tried to kill me.”

“Then we have the image of a church with a square tower from the excavation site.” Nico said before adding archly. “I don’t recall anyone trying to kill you there either George.”

I hastily added. “Then finally the tapestry in Spain. Did I mention I almost got killed there too?”

“Not yet.” Andre said in a bored fashion. “But I’m sure you’re about to.”

“It was only my cat like reflexes that saved from certain death.” I said venomously.

Andre smirked. “Cat like reflexes eh?”

“And while I was risking life and limb, where were you Andre?” I shot back. “Getting your glasses fogged up over an Etruscan Vase?”  
  
But Nico quickly stopped any argument, reminding us of what was at stake.

Grimacing there was a pause. Finally Andre broke it.

“Well, the Latin phrase were the words of Julius Ceaser. He was describing the Isle of Britain.”

“Are you sure?” I interrupted. “The map didn’t look much like Britain.”

Nico turned to Andre. “How come Ceaser described Britain as the edge of the world?

Andre shook his head. “To the Roman’s the Mediterranean was the centre of the universe. Britain was a remote unfriendly place inhabited by blue painted savages.”  
  
“It hasn’t changed much.” Nico commented dryly.

“Well, they stopped painting themselves blue.” I quipped.

She smiled at that. “Except when they go to a football match.”

“The used an extract from a plant called Woad. isatis tinctoria.” Andre continued. “The Scots used it until fairly recently in their wars with the English?”

“Fairly recently, I don’t recall the Scots being at war with the English.” I pointed out, calling him out on using the historian’s version of fairly recently. “How recently are we talking about?”

“I believe William Wallace’s men used it in the thirteenth century...they might well have using it as late as…” Andre’s eyes widened.

“You can’t remember, can you?”

“Thirteen-fourteen.” He burst out.

“Oh, we’re back onto that are we?” I shot back.

But Nico looked interested.

Instead of dismissing things she turned to face Andre again.  
  
“Andre what is it, what do you mean?”

“Thirteen-fourteen in Scotland, the Battle of Bannockburn!” Andre cried.

“That explains the stream on the chessboard.” I realized, finally seeing what they were getting at. “That’s a burn, as in Bannockburn…”

Andre nodded. “Right George and it’s gets better. Rumour has it the Scots were helped by, well, can’t you guess?”

“Knight’s Templar?” Nico whispered.

“Yes, a group of outlawed Templars.” Andre said. “They were said to have turned the tide for the Scots.”

“So, that’s where it all ends. In Bannockburn, in a church with a square tower…” I said at last.

All the clues came together and after a quick search we knew we’d found the place, there was only one such church that fit the bill. St. Ninians Church. Nico quickly phoned a cab, Lobineau couldn’t come with us, but that didn’t bother me. Personally I’d rather he wasn’t there. So together Nico and I headed to the airport where we would fly to Britain and from there get a train to Stirling and walk the last leg of the journey to St. Ninians. Our long journey had finally reached it’s final stage.


	27. A Long Journey

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**A Long Journey**

I let out a yawn as we sat, looking out the window of our compartment on the train, it was pitch black out but occasionally, through the rough tree outline, a collection of lights from a small village or similar could be seen.

“Ah, it’s almost morning.” Nico yawned too.

I nodded. “Yeah, somewhere, out in the dark, is Stirling. We’ve come a long way to get here...You know Nico, I…”

She shook her head, smiling. “Don’t say it George, you don’t need to...I know. But right now, I don’t want anything to distract us from what lies ahead.”  
  
“Oh, right, yeah...I understand.” I replied; realizing she was right.

I sighed, looking towards Nico again, she was as beautiful as ever but the shadows under her eyes spoke of the strain of the last few days. I turned my attention to the only other passenger in this compartment, an old woman with grey hair in a bun, dark eyes and a sallow complexion, she wore a blue flowered bonnet and a fur coat with a dark red dress, stockings and heels and was currently reading a book. She reminded me of my grandmother, except this old lady was alive.

“Pardon me.” I said trying to get her attention, but got no reply. _‘She must be deaf.’_

But then. “Yes my dear?”

She looked up, smiling, it was a little unsettling and a little familiar, she also had a rather raspy voice I felt.

Still I focused and asked. “Do you know what time we’re due in Stirling?”

“A quarter to six, but we’re running eight minutes late.” She replied. “Is that where you two lovebirds are bound?”

“Yes, it’s one of the places we thought we’d see on our holiday.” Nico said politely.

“Be sure to visit the castle won’t you?”

Nico laughed. “Oh, I’m sure it’s very nice but we’re not really into history, are we George?”

I shook my head. “No but uh, thanks...Say, do you know if there’s a church called St. Ninians near Stirling.”  
  
“Yes there is.” She smirked. “And I know why you’re going there. It’s obvious.”  
  
I tensed, worried. But then said.

“You’re in love, you’re eloping.” She laughed. “And they say romance is dead.”

I relaxed a little letting the old woman get back to her book.

It was then I realized I needed to use the bathroom so I stood up.

“Where are you going George?” Nico asked.

I sat back down. “Do I need to spell it out.”  
“Don’t snap at me.” She shot back. “If you have to take a leak just say so.”  
  
“Okay, I’m going to take a leak.” I replied flippantly. “L-E-A-K.”

“Tickets please.”

I started, turning to face the conductor who had entered. Clad in the typical uniform. Roughly the same height as me, mostly bald with grey hair around the sides and back of his head, covered by his cap. He also had wide staring dead looking blue eyes, as well as thick grey moustache. He turned to the old woman who handed her ticket over. He checked it and handed it back.

“That’s a standard full price peak return.” He commented. “Don’t you have a senior citizens rail card?”

The old woman shrugged. “I rarely travel by train. My ticket is perfectly valid is it not?”

“Well, yeah. But you could’ve saved up to a third of the cost.” He explained.

The old woman scoffed. “I do not need to indulge in piffling thriftiness.”

“Blimey, you’re a funny old bird and no mistake.” He said before turning to Nico and I. “Tickets please sir.”

“Here.” I hanged them over.

He checked them and handed them back. “Off to Stirling, eh?”

“Yes, we are.” Nico said.

“Well I hope you won’t be disappointed, it’s a miserably place this time of year.” He said, giving her a strange look. “Still, there’s plenty of pubs and lovely view from the castle.”  
  
With that he turned and left.

I turned to Nico anxiously.

“I don’t wanna worry you but there was something familiar about that guy.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, concerned. “You’re tired, perhaps you’re mistaken?”

I bit my lip. “Maybe, but I didn’t like the look in his eyes when he spoke to you.”

I then stood up again.

“Can’t you sit still George.” Nico complained.

I turned back to her. “I need to go to the john.”  
  
She relented. “While you’re up, check out the buffet car, George. Unthinkable though it is, I’m hungry enough for English food.”  
  
“Okay.”

Smiling at that I left and began to make my way down the train, finding the bathroom and using it. I then left and began to make my way further down towards the buffet car. But as I reached the private compartments one of them opened and a familiar figure stepped out.  
  
“Oh no.” I muttered, frustrated.

It was that gangster creep from the hotel, Guido.

‘ _Well, he doesn’t scare me.’_ I then challenged him. “Hey buster, this is a no smoking car.”

Guido just puffed on his cigarette and smirked at me, briefly opening his jacket to show the hilt of a knife.

‘ _Okay, maybe he does scare me...Wait a minute…’_ It got worse, I finally realized why I recognized the conductor. _‘Eklund, Marquet’s murderer.’_

I immediately turned and hurried back down the corridor, but when I reached our compartment it was empty, both Nico and the old woman were gone. I grimaced, I had to find them, the Sword of Baphomet could wait.

Leaving the compartment I looked around. The only way they could have gone was through the door to my left, to the baggage car, or I’d have seen them. But I couldn’t just walk in, the door was locked. I thought for a moment and realized, crazy as it was, there was only one way in. But I couldn’t do it from our compartment. So I entered the one next to it, where a somewhat hefty dark haired man, his face blotched and unshaven, clad in a pair of jeans and a slightly too small Newcastle T-shirt was drinking something from a can. Across from him was another man, fast asleep in the seat.

“Uh, having a party?” I asked awkwardly.

He smiled. “No, this is breakfast, c’mon join us. Hooway Basher, wake up man, we’s company.”

His breath was like the outlet from a chemical factory, the sleeping man, Basher, didn’t stir.

“Sorry, he’s taking a nap.” The man said jovially. “I’ll wake him up when we get to Newcastle.”

I bit my lip. “We passed through Newcastle half an hour ago?”  
  
“And I never noticed.” He said, unperturbed.

Shaking my head I saw what I needed and approached the window, opening it I leaned out and looked up, yes that was it.

“Don’t do it pal.” The man suddenly cried. “Don’t jump.”

I turned to him. “I don’t intend to jump, I’m going to climb onto the roof of the train.”

“You’re kidding aren’t you?”

“Just watch me.” I said.

With that I began to climb up.

“Hold on there, pal.” He said, getting up. “I’ll give you a hand.”

With that he staggered over and gave me a leg up allowing me to climb up onto the roof.

Eyes streaming, almost blinded, I walked along the train, buffeted by the wind but I soon reached the ladder and climbed down. I opened the side door to the baggage car and leapt in. Only to be confronted by Eklund, holding a gun, tense. To my right, by the door, was Nico, tightly bound in ropes. Also present in the car was Guido’s accomplice Flap, fighting with the old woman. As they struggled the other, larger, side door opened and the old woman head butting Flap, causing the bonnet and hair, now revealed to be a wig to fall away.

I was shocked as I realized who the old woman really was. _‘Khan?!’_

It was him, the assassin, for the first time since Bull’s Head he was in front of me and trying to defend Nico and I from Flap and Eklund. With a swing of his handbag, which clearly had something heavy in it, Khan knocked Flap out of the train through the door, but then Eklund shot him, sending him sprawling against the wall. Eklund then turned the gun on me and I did the only thing I could in that moment. I lunged for the emergency stop cord and tugged. The train lurched to a stop, knocking me off my feet and causing a heavy crate to land on Eklund, knocking him out cold.

Getting to my feet I hurried over to Khan.

“You saved our lives, but why?”

He looked up at me, weakly. “We were always, on the same side Stobbart, different causes, but a common enemy.”

“The Knights Templar?”

Khan shook his head. “Don’t call them that...the real Templars, were a noble foe. These...barbarians have no right to that name, they...are little better than dogs.”

“What are the Neo-Templars after, what’s the Sword of Baphomet?”

“Not what you think, my friend, it is a weapon yes, but one our enemies will find difficult to wield.” Khan wheezed. “A double edged sword...older than de Molay, older than Solomon...a colossal power, from the Earth itself, aligned to a single point…”

“Focused at St. Ninians.”

Khan reached up, grasping my hand tightly. “You can’t let them...get the sword…”

“We’ll stop them.” I said. “You and me together, and Nico…”

“No George.” He said softly. “My journey ends soon, in the Garden of Paradise...May Allah guide you, to our enemies...One...last...thing…”

“What?”

But he never got the words out for at that moment blood spilled from his mouth and he slumped, dead. Shakily I got to my feet and hurried over to Nico.

“Don’t worry, I hadn’t forgotten you.” I said gently.

She glowered. “Untie me this instant, George Stobbart!”  
  
“I will.” I said. “When I’m ready.”

With that I untied her...after kissing her.

“Ah, that’s not fair George.” She gasped.

“No.”

She shook her head. “You took advantage while my hands were tied.”

I nodded slowly.

I then explained.

“When Eklund pointed that gun at me, I thought I was dead, I thought of all the things I’d never do...and kissing you was the very first.”

“George…” She whispered.

I smiled. “Yeah?”

But she quickly snapped out of it. “George, we have to go, Eklund could recover at any time."  
  
“Then what are we waiting for?” I agreed.

So together we hurried to the door I came in by and dropped out of the train, hurrying away, making the rest of the journey on foot.


	28. Amongst The Ruins

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**Amongst the Ruins**

Walking down the path, through the church’s overgrown graveyard, towards the ruined remains of the building that only barely resembled the image from the chalice anymore, but just enough that we were sure it was the right one, I felt lighter. I was glad I had disposed of the items I had still been carrying back at Nico’s apartment. Most had been binned or Andre took them to see they made it back to places they should be, we also gave him the gem to take to the Crune Museum, where such a valuable object belonged now that it has served its purpose. Only the clown’s nose and Khan’s photograph were left at the apartment, as mementos of our journey. We stopped just outside the entrance of the ruined church.

“I’d feel happier if we had a gun or something.” I admitted, despite my general distaste of them.

“Khan gave me something.” Nico said as she reached into her jacket.

“Yeah?” I asked hopefully.

She pulled it out. “His spare handbag.”  
  
I rolled my eyes. “Oh great, if we run into any killers we can give them a good buffeting. Didn’t he have any weapons?”

“You don’t know the half of it. This bag is full of C4.” Nico protested.

“Oh why didn’t you say so, boy, we’ll show ‘em now.” I replied sarcastically. “What’s C4?”

“Plastique, George.”  
  
“We’re gonna shop our way to victory.” I scoffed.

She glared. “Two kilos of plastic explosive...The detonator is broken though.”  
  
I grimaced, now realizing what she meant. But what she said about the detonator being broken worried me.

Thinking for a moment I suggested.

“Alright, we could buy a box of matches somewhere…”

Nico shook her head sadly. “It doesn’t work like that, it’s take a small explosion to start the big explosion.”

“Well that’s not much use then.” I sighed. “What’s that sign say?”  
  
I was referring to the sign on the wall of the church by the door, Nico had been right next to it. She turned and read it.

“Apparently in the seventeenth century, this place was used as a munitions store.” She read.

I shrugged. “So, what happened.”  
  
She turned to me. “Look at this place, you work it out.”  
  
Looking closer and seeing the damage, that the tower wasn’t ruined or worn down by age, I grimaced.

“Ah...stray spark.”

“You got it.” Nico confirmed. “This part of the tower was all that survived the blast.”

I sighed. “I hope the explosion didn’t destroy the Sword of Baphomet.”

“Do you?” She asked, surprised. “I rather hope it did.”  
  
I suppressed a laugh, understanding what she meant, but still we focused and entered the interior of the ruined church. Inside wasn’t much but it was clear the upper floor had collapsed at some point, leaving a small pile of rubble, next to it was a winch with a handle and cog, the rest was broken. The only other features of interest was a statue of some sort of demon, mouth wide open. Next to it a large stone door with an inscription over the top of it.

Nico walked over to the door and stood before it, looking up at the inscription, I walked over to her.

“Nico?”  
  
“Uh-huh?”

I sighed. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Committing this inscription to memory.” She explained.

“Can you read it?” I asked.

“No.” Was her simple reply.

I quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the point of memorising it if you can’t read it?”  
  
“It might be important.” She countered. “I may find someone in Stirling who can translate it.”  
  
“We don’t have time to look for a linguist.” I pointed out.

“At least I’m doing something positive.” She quipped.

Shaking my head I turned away and began to consider out surroundings. I decided to see if the crank still worked. Turning the handle I found it coming away in my hand. With a sigh I pocketed it and then, looking closer at the demon statue I began to consider. Since upon closer inspection I noted that there was a small circular hole in the mouth, the eye sockets were hollow. I moved closer and looked carefully, inside I could just make out more cogs, suddenly I realized this was a mechanism, but I needed another cog. Quickly returning to the crank I took the cog from that, pocketing it and looked around, trying to think where another could be.

Seeing the pile of rubble I realized there was only one option. Rolling up my sleeves I knelt down and began rooting through the rubble, it had clearly been mixed with other items from various points in time. I soon unearthed a small coin, green with age, a black plastic pen top and a clay pipe that could be anything from fifty to five hundred years old. Finally however I found it, another cog. Satisfied I made my way over to the statue, inserting the cogs into the eyes then slid the handle into the hole in its mouth, the cogs all meshed. I began to turn the handle and as I did so, the door rose until it was fully open. Nico gasped and I smirked but together we entered, heading downstairs into a large chamber.

“Oh no.” I whispered.

Nico grasped my arm, also worried. For there were three torch brackets on the walls, each with a lit torch, we weren’t the first ones here, the bogus Templars had beaten us to the Sword. But where were they no and why was it so quiet. Not only that, at least half the room was covered with gunpowder, spilled from ruptured barrels. It wasn’t good but we had to press on, there might still be a chance to stop them. So we approached the only other door, leading to another flight of steps. As we reached it but then stopped.

“Listen, I can definitely hear chanting.” Nico whispered.

I nodded. “Me too, I wonder what they’re doing.”  
  
Nico rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they were conducting some satanic sex ritual.”  
  
“So, what are we waiting for?”  
  
With that we made our way down, heading towards our final confrontation with the Neo-Templars.


	29. The Powder Keg Ignites

**Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars**

**The Powder Keg Ignites**

The awe with which Nico and I saw the chamber within was almost impossible to contain. It was a large cavern, with a ledge upon which we lay down to try and hide, as close to the edge as possible. To our right was a curved set of stone stairs with a wide open floor below. In that lower area were two large stone pillars that radiated blue pulsing energy in veins along their surfaces. Behind that was a large and familiar statue, three large bearded faces.

“Would you look at that?” I whispered to Nico. “Baphomet. Lobineau was right, this place was ancient even to the Templars.”  
  
Nico looked shocked. “This whole place, this is Baphomet.”

Finally the truth, the Templars never worshipped this graven image, no more than they’d worship a rainbow, but like a rainbow they considered it a symbol of a covenant with God who had revealed this place to them. The Neo-Templars were here, all clad in brown and dark red robes, wearing hoods that hid their heads, but I was willing to wager the rotund one was the military leader I had seen in Montfaucon. The Grand Master also stood out, clad in a blue hooded robe instead. He also stood before the two pillars while one other hooded figure, armed with a sword, stood between the pillars and the massive Baphomet idol. There was one final figure standing just behind the Grand Master, who had his hood down. A man who was tall, bald with dark eyes and a black beard and moustache.

Nico recognized him too and couldn’t help herself, bursting out, as the man turned his head and saw us.

“Rosso, why that double dealing treacherous-”

“On the contrary.”

We turned out heads to see a recovered Eklund standing there, his gun trained on us. We were trapped.

“Inspector Rosso has been the model of obedience, an important quality in a true Templar.” He told us. “Now be quiet and watch if you wish to live much longer.”

It now made sense, why the investigation into the bombing hadn’t gone so far, Rosso had buried it for his Templar buddies. We looked back down as the man holding the sword drew it and held it high.

“Brothers and sisters.” He announced in the same thick accented voice that identified him as the politician I’d seen in the Montfaucon meeting. “We are gathered here to witness the reforging of the sword that was broken, within the view of our great Baphomet. Grand Master and Knight of Baphomet, we salute and pledge our obedience to you.”  
  
Spreading his arms wide the Grand Master replied. “I salute you, Gate Keeper of the Temple. For now we begin our first steps towards a new world.”

With that the politician planted his sword, point down, on the ground and bowed, the others fell to their knees and bowed except Rosso who merely bowed from the waist, still standing. I looked over my shoulder to see Eklund do the same but he quickly straightened up, pointing the gun at me. I returned my attention to what was going on down below.

Arms still spread, The Grand Master continued to make his speech.

“Seven centuries ago, our most potent weapon, the Sword of Baphomet, was lost to us. Now we stand here, ready to reforge it and guide the world into a new era. Our enemies shall fall before us and we shall take the world into a place where all borders dissolve. The whole world will be united under the red cross of the Templars.”  
  
With that he walked between the pillars and extended his arms again. Until suddenly the pillars glowed and the energy arced out almost like electricity, striking the Grand Master who flinched and jerked, his mouth open in a wordless scream. Finally the energy stopped and the Grand Master clasped his hands in front of him, smiling, looking far stronger and healthier than ever. We were caught anyway so Nico and I stood up, forced to do so at gunpoint by Eklund. As we did so the people below stood and parted while the Grand Master stepped up, Rosso at his side, the politician on the other.

“George, we have watched your efforts to stop us with respect.” He remarked, his eyes fixed on me. “But surely you realize you have been deceived by our enemies. Both of us want a better world, join us George, join us in true brotherhood.”  
  
“Yeah, true…” I murmured, but then snapped out of it, remembering. “Wait a minute, what about Marquet and Peagram and Klausner. You didn’t see them as brothers, only as failures. Three men dead and you don’t give a damn.”

The Grand Master shook his head. “George, you must understand, every great undertaking requires sacrifices.”

“Join you, I’ll see you in hell first.” I snapped.

He didn’t seem to notice Rosso was walking away from him, towards the stairs.

“Ah George, I had such hope for you.” He said before shrugging. “C'est la guerre. Eklund, kill him.”

It was then I recalled the danger behind us.

I turned as Eklund raised his gun, but Nico was off to his side and quickly kicked him in the side, knocking the gun from his hands. He grunted and then viciously backhanded her, knocking her against the wall. In a blind rage I lashed out, trying to punch him but he blocked and knocked me to the ground, before falling on top of me and trying to choke the life out of me. I struggled desperately until he let out a strangled gurgle and I recovered enough to see him topple over me, a knife through his neck, falling off the cliff, dead. As I sat up, catching my breath I saw Rosso approach, he had been the one to throw the knife through Eklund’s neck.

“I swear, I just wanted things to be right!” He screamed.

Then there was a gunshot and Rosso clutched at his suddenly bleeding chest before also toppling over the cliff, I turned to see the Grand Master holding the still smoking gun.

“Take them, kill them, they will not escape!” He yelled.

I quickly scrambled to my feet, as did Nico, as the Templars made their way towards the stairs. Grabbing each other’s hands we ran for the stairs leading up to the entrance.

But when we reached the top of the stairs, into the gunpowder room, we found ourselves trapped once again.  
  
“Well, well.” Guido drawled as he toyed with his knife. “If it isn’t the great detective and his beautiful assistant...it’s going to be a real pleasure killing you both.”  
  
He was standing in front of the stairs leading up to the remains of the church, the only exit.

“George, what are we going to do?” Nico whispered frantically.

I reacted in the only day I could and grabbed the torch next to me and threw it at the gunpowder. Guido looked panicked, stepping towards it.  
  
“C’mon Nico.” I encouraged. “We’re getting out of here.”  
  
“You fools!”  
  
It was the Grand Master, he had caught up, holding a staff in his hands.

“You will not escape us.” He warned. “Guido, stop them!”

He stammered. “But master, the powder.”  
  
“That powder is from the English civil war. It’s over three hundred years old.” The Grand Master snapped. “You fool, just how explosive do you think it can be?”  
  
I realized what he meant and grimaced, I thought it was all over. But Nico had one more trick up her sleeve, or rather, in her handbag, a handbag full of plastic explosives.

“Maybe, but this stuff is brand new.” She cried.

With that she threw the bag towards the flames that were indeed emitting small explosions from the old gunpowder.

The Grand Master realized the danger and hurried over, as did Guido, trying to fan the flames out with his hat while blowing on it, the Grand Master shouting orders. Meanwhile Nico grabbed my hand and we ran up the stairs and out of the church, trying to get as far away as possible until finally the explosion sent us flying from the shockwave but we managed to pull ourselves to hide behind a gravestone, holding each other tightly. Finally the explosion subsided, it was done, the place destroyed, the Sword destroyed, the Templars destroyed. We both clambered to our feet and gazed into each other’s eyes smiling until finally we held each other close and kissed deeply.

“You’ll never be able to write your story now.” I mused as we parted.

Nico just laughed. “I don’t mind, I have what I want right here.”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“Just tell me one thing George.” She said quietly. “Are our lives together always going to be this crazy?”  
  
Laughing at that I shrugged and we kissed one more time.


End file.
